


Moments of You

by Forestwater



Category: Horton Hears a Who! - Dr. Seuss
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 03:56:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 79,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3753577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forestwater/pseuds/Forestwater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sally turned to see large gray eyes and a friendly, gap-toothed smile inches away from her face. With a yelp, she leapt backward, dropping her lunchbox. The boy scrambled to pick it up and tripped, sprawling across the road." So it begins.</p>
<p>A story of Horton Hears a Who! (the Blue Sky film) about Ned and Sally McDodd's relationship. It's organized mostly in groups of one-shots, focusing on the major points of their relationship rather than a straightforward story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hey!

**Hey!**  
  
Sally hugged her lunchbox to her chest, looking up at the sky, where a few white clouds swirled lazily in a field of bright blue. A typical day in Whoville, where nothing ever went wrong. Ever.  
  
Sally was a little nervous, since it was her first day of kindergarten, but after watching her three older brothers and sisters all start, she wasn’t scared enough to make her mom walk with her. Besides, she thought, glancing over at her siblings, who were walking to school ahead of her, it’s not like I’m alone.  
  
“Hey!” Sally turned to see large gray eyes and a friendly, gap-toothed smile . . . inches away from her face. With a yelp, she leapt backward, dropping her lunchbox.  
  
The boy scrambled to pick it up and tripped, sprawling across the road. He sat, up, blushing and wincing. “I’m sorry,” he said, hurrying over to her and handing her the lunchbox. “I didn’t mean it.”  
  
“I know,” Sally replied — it was obvious that he hadn’t tried to scare her. “What’s your name?”  
  
“Ned McDodd.”  
  
Sally suddenly noticed that Ned’s eyes were watering and his lip was trembling slightly.  
  
“Are you sad?” He shook his head, and she saw that his chin had been scraped raw and had just started to bleed. “You’re hurt!”  
  
“I . . .” He brushed his chin with the back of his hand. When it came away bloody, he gulped hard and squeezed his eyes shut, breathing deeply. “Ow, ow, ow,” he whispered, clenching his hands into fists at his sides.  
  
She smiled sympathetically. “I’m Sally O'Malley,” she said, to distract him. Suddenly something occurred to her. “Where are your parents?”  
  
His eyes snapped open and his face brightened. “They said that I was grown-up enough to find my own way to school!” he chirped, clearly thrilled with this responsibility. “What about you?”  
  
She pointed towards her siblings, who were far ahead of them at that point. “My brothers and sisters are taking me,” she said. “Well, the ones that are old enough. I have another two siblings at home.”  
  
Ned squinted. “They’re far,” he observed. “Should we hurry up?”  
  
Sally shook her head. “Nuh-uh. I like walking with you.”  
  
They grinned at each other for a moment, then started walking, talking about their families. Sally was amazed and jealous of Ned’s large family — 85 younger siblings! — but he said it was annoying having them around all the time. “All they do is cry and poop,” he complained. They both giggled at the word “poop.”  
  
“So, you’re the oldest?” Sally asked.  
  
“Yep,” he replied proudly, lifting his chin. “That’s why I get to be Mayor!”  
  
“Mayor?” she repeated, wrinkling her nose. Who’d want to be Mayor?  
  
Ned nodded, blissfully unaware of her lack of enthusiasm. “Yes, it’s what I’ve always wanted to be. And someday I will.”  
  
“What kinds of things will you do when you're Mayor?”  
  
Ned thought for a second. “I’d make everyone have dessert for dinner, and kids would be allowed to stay up late!”  
  
Sally laughed. “And ice cream sodas with lunch every day!”  
  
“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” They walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes. As the school loomed up ahead of them, large and a little intimidating, Ned broke the silence.  
  
“Can I hold your hand?”  
  
Sally blinked, surprised. “Ah . . .” She thought about it for a second. “Okay!”  
  
Ned beamed, then took her hand in his unbloodied one.  
  
Suddenly a loud, clanging bell rang through the schoolyard. “We’re gonna be late!” Ned called and started running, dragging Sally, laughing, into the school.


	2. Freak?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sally learns that not everyone finds Ned McDodd as cool as she does.

**Freak?**  
  
“Not great,” Sally’s fifth-grade teacher, Mrs. Lansy, said, setting a paper facedown on her desk. Sally picked it up and turned it over, staring at it in dismay. It was her Whostory test, and she’d  _failed._  She looked over the paper, at all the little red correction marks. With a groan of frustration, she slapped it down on the desk. It didn’t make sense; she understood everything, and knew what the right answers were — why did she fail?  
  
“Hey, Sally! How did you do?” Ned asked brightly from the desk in front of hers. She wordlessly handed him her paper, putting her head down on the desk. Through her curtain of red hair, she watched his smile fade as he took in the score.  
  
“Ah, who needs Whostory, anyway?” he asked dismissively, quickly covering his own paper with his arms. Before he could, though, Sally saw the “Better Than Best” written neatly across it. “It’s just for stupid people like Mrs. Lansy.”  
  
She knew Ned was lying — he loved Whostory. He loved all of school, actually. It was one of the reasons they were friends; when she was in a bad mood because of school (or anything, for that matter), his ceaseless cheerfulness would always make her feel better.  
  
“Thanks, Ned,” she said with a small smile, taking the paper and hiding it under her books. “But it’s not Mrs. Lansy’s fault that I’m dumb.”  
  
“You’re not dumb. And hey, I can help you study for the next test if you want, and you’ll nail it!”  
  
“Better not, Sal — his loser germs might rub off on you.” The speaker was Sherry, a very pretty, very rich, very popular Who who absolutely hated Ned. “Come over here,” she added, beckoning to Sally and ignoring Ned, who had turned bright red.  
  
Sally’s eyes met Ned’s. He mouthed,  _“What do they want?”_  When she shrugged, he whispered. “Better go over there, then.” His face was still pink with embarrassment, but his smile was as warm as ever.  
  
“I’ll be right back,” she said, pushing back her chair and standing. Since the end of the year was nearing, the teacher had let them work on their final projects, and so she didn’t bat an eye when Sally sat down in an empty desk next to Sherry.  
  
“I love your hair,” one of Sherry’s friends said, fingering a strand of Sally’s red-brown hair. "I'm so jealous."  
  
“Absolutely,” Sherry agreed — the friend promptly began braiding Sally’s hair. “Listen,” Sherry continued, leaning forward. “In, like, less than two weeks we’re going into middle school. A time for . . . change.” She gave Sally a significant look.  
  
Sally stared blankly back. “You mean, like get a new haircut or something?”  
  
Sherry laughed, and shared a glance with friends that said, “Poor, naïve Sally.” Sherry raised her eyebrows. “No. I mean. . . . Middle school is a time for new first impressions. And right now, hanging out with . . . who you’re currently hanging out with, you’re coming across as a total geek. You’re pretty, Sally, and if you ever want to be popular, you’ll have to ditch the freak.”  
  
Sally’s eyebrows drew together. “Ned?”  
  
Sherry’s friends tittered, and the one braiding her hair said, “Oh, so it has a name?”  
  
Sherry clearly agreed. “Sal, ‘Mr. Future-Mayor-of-Whoville’ is a conceited, spoiled brat, and a complete dork, besides. You’re too cool for him.”  
  
With her fancy clothes and perfect hair, Sherry didn’t strike Sally as the epitome of modesty, but she didn’t say that. Instead she insisted, “But Ned’s been my friend since kindergarten, and he’s always been so nice to me —”  
  
“Whatever, Sal.” Sherry popped a stick of gum in her mouth. “Just think it over. Whenever you’re ready to say goodbye to Mayor Loser, we’ll be waiting.”  
  
Feeling like she’d been dismissed, Sally made her way back to her desk.  
  
“So,” Ned began, “what was that about?” He was trying to be casual, but she could tell that he was dying to know. “You looked kind of upset. Everything okay?”  
  
Sally looked into her best friend’s concerned eyes and smiled. “Yeah, it was fine,” she lied casually. “Sherry wanted me to, ah . . . give her the answers to our math test — she hasn’t taken it yet.”  
  
“You didn’t, did you?”  
  
Sally slapped his arm playfully. “Of course not.”  
  
“Good girl.” Her patted her head teasingly, and ducked when she swung at him again. His grin turned sympathetic. “Hey, don’t think about it. Girls like her . . .” He shook his head. “They’re not worth worrying about, you know?”  
  
Was the anxiety so clear on her face? Sally nodded, thanking him, but Sherry’s words were ringing in her ears.  
  
_“You’re too cool for him.”_  
  
Sally had never thought of Ned as a freak. But now, sitting across from him as he began telling her about a great book he’d read, and seeing Sherry and her posse sniggering at him, she began to wonder.  
  
_Was_  he?


	3. Moron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned and Sally's friendship suffers a major blow.

**Moron**  
  
“Ugh, I don’t get this,” Sally muttered during study hall, resting her head in one hand. “Do you get this?” she asked Sherry, who was reclining in the chair next to her.  
  
“Hell no,” Sherry replied. “You know I don’t like crap like this.”  
  
“’Crap like this’?” Sally raised her eyebrows, smirking.  
  
“You know, math, school, whatever.” Sherry pulled out a lip gloss and began spreading it across her lips. “Good luck, Sal.”  
  
“Hey, you need help?” Ned asked, sitting down on Sally’s other side. Sherry took one look at him, curled her lip, and left, sitting down in a chair across the room.  
  
“Well . . . yeah,” Sally said.  
  
“No problem,” Ned said with a grin. He began to explain the math problem to her, but she didn’t hear a word of it. She was torn between embarrassment that she was sitting  _alone_  with Ned and repulsion at her desperate need to be popular.  
  
And, of course, guilt that she was hurting poor Ned through all her indecision.  
  
The thing was, when Sherry had told her to ditch Ned, she began seeing him the way everyone else did — as this little weirdo, a freak. And it was hard to laugh and have fun with him when part of her was wondering what everyone else was thinking.  
  
Finally, she’d gone to Sherry and told her that she was embarrassed by Ned. Sherry had just looked at her coolly and said, “You know what you have to do, don’t you?”  
  
Sally hadn’t gotten any sleep that night; she’d spent half of it trying to convince herself that it didn’t matter what other people thought, and the other half imagining herself surrounded by tons of good friends, laughing and not worrying about anything. That fantasy would be interrupted, though, by thinking of Ned, who’d be sound asleep, not realizing that this would be their last night as friends.  
  
With that thought she’d roll over and start the whole process again.  
  
Now she was nearing the end of sixth grade and their friendship had all but collapsed. Only Ned’s limitless courage and determination kept them together, and it was hurting both of them. Whenever Ned saw her — especially when Sherry was clinging to her, which Sally kind of liked because it made her feel popular — a flash of pain would cross his face, and guilt would wrench at her heart.  
  
Which was why she’d never just told Ned to leave her alone; she could never stand knowing that he’d look like that all the time.  
  
“Do you get it now?” Ned asked, looking up at her.  
  
“Yeah. Thanks, Ned. That helped me a lot.” Ned grinned at her and gently shoved her with his shoulder.  
  
“That’s what I’m here for.”  
  
“Thanks for helping Sal with her math  _dilemma,”_  Sherry said, sticking her head between Ned and Sally’s, “but we have to go.”  
  
Sally winced at Sherry’s tone. “Sherry, no we don’t, I can stay and —”  
  
“Come on!” Sherry pulled Sally to her feet as the bell rang.  
  
Finding Ned in the sudden rush of people, she shouted, “I’ll call you later, okay?”  
  
“Sure,” he said. “Looking forward to it.” She saw it again; the flash of pain, the humiliation and longing. A strained smile quickly took its place, though, and he waved with one hand before turning and disappearing into the crowd.  
  
Sally had never hated herself more than at that moment.

* * *

Sherry steered Sally into the girl’s bathroom. Once they were inside, she put her hands on her hips.  
  
“You’re going to  _call_  him later?” she demanded.  
  
Sally shrugged. “Well, maybe.”  
  
“That’s not ditching him. That’s calling him.”  
  
Sally shrugged. “I can’t do it, Sherry. I still like him a lot, and I don’t want —”  
  
“Hon, you can and you will. It’s really the best thing for you, trust me. I mean, aren’t you happier now than you were before?”  
  
Sally shook her head, not disagreeing, just trying to clear it.  
  
_Was_  she happier? She thought about how she’d felt before, back in elementary school when everything had been simple and clear. That had been happy. Now . . .  
  
Ned’s face flashed in front of hers again.  
  
Now . . . she was miserable. And it was self-inflicted misery, because she could walk away whenever she wanted, and go back to Ned, who she enjoyed hanging out with. She could leave, and she wouldn’t.  
  
Good God, she was an idiot.  
  
“Listen, Sherry . . .” Sally hesitated. She’d never been good at standing up for anything, ever. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m going to go have lunch with Ned. It’s just that . . . I miss him, and I think that — I mean, if I have to choose between you and him . . . I’m going to choose Ned.” Sherry’s eyebrows shot up, but she didn’t respond. “Ah, I’m sorry.” What was she supposed to say  _now?_  “Uh, bye.” She turned and left before Sherry could say anything, feeling lighter than she had in a long time.

* * *

Her fingers were white on her books as she entered the cafeteria, scanning the tables eagerly. Normally she’d be nervous, standing alone in front of so many people — not that they were looking at her, but still. However, after finally standing up to Sherry, she was beginning to feel like she could do anything. So, thrilled and emboldened by her newfound audacity, she crossed the cafeteria, searching for a familiar mop of brown hair.  
  
_Ah._  He was sitting at a table in the corner, next to an acne-ridden boy with glasses and a rather plump girl. The girl and boy were talking enthusiastically, and Ned watched them with a wistful smile on his face. Every so often one of them would ask him a question, and he’d answer cheerfully enough, but his smile wasn’t as bright as she remembered. He didn’t sit up nearly as straight, either — he looked a little like he was trying to sink into his chair, actually, and he was picking at his food listlessly. The Ned she remembered couldn’t stop eating; she’d often envied that he could eat whatever and stay rail-thin. Sally realized that she had avoided really looking at her best friend for the past several months.  
  
Another pang of guilt shot through her chest, and she swallowed hard before stepping forward.  
  
There was an empty chair next to Ned — most of the table of empty, in fact. The girl saw Sally standing there awkwardly and nodded, gesturing at she could sit down. Ned, who was still staring at his salad, hadn’t noticed. Sally set her books down next him, settling into the chair nervously.  
  
“H-hi, Ned.” Her voice was almost too soft to hear, but his head snapped up, and he whipped around to face her, still holding his fork and splattering her slightly with salad dressing. He smiled sheepishly, and brushed at her sleeve. His grin widened, revealing two gapped front teeth.  
  
“Sally!” His smile melted as quickly as it had come, and he regarded her with wary politeness. “Do you need help with homework or something?”  
  
“Oh! . . . No, not at all.” She flushed. “I . . . I just. . . .”  
  
"Sally?" Sally turned around to see Sherry standing over her, her hands on her hips. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”  
  
_Oh no you don't._  Sally shook her head. “No. Sorry, but I'm kind of busy.”  
  
A shadow fell across Sherry’s face, but she didn’t lose her smile. “Come on, Sal. This is getting ridiculous.”  
  
She shrugged. “I’m sorry.” She started to turn back toward Ned, but Sherry put her hand on Sally’s shoulder, sitting down in the seat on her other side.  
  
“Listen,” Sherry said, keeping her voice down so Ned couldn’t hear them. “What are you playing at? You want something? My earrings? Ricky?” Ricky was Sherry’s current boyfriend. “Whatever you want, you can have it. Just come back to our table.”  
  
Sally shook her head. “All I want is to have lunch with my best friend,” she hissed, turning back toward Ned. “Okay?”  
  
Sherry glanced back the way she’d come nervously, then to Sally with a desperate expression on her face. Sally suddenly wondered whether Sherry depended on her to be popular. It didn’t seem to make sense, but why else would Sherry be so determined to get her back with the “cool” kids? Sherry did seem to have more friends now than she did in elementary school.  
  
“Ned,” Sherry snapped, making Sally jump. “Can I talk to you . . .” her eyes roved over the cafeteria, searching for a quiet spot, “over there?” She jerked her head toward the water fountains.  
  
“No,” Sally said, surprising herself.  
  
Sherry’s eyes narrowed. “I just need to talk to him for a second.”  
  
“It’s okay, Sal,” Ned said, standing and giving her a weak smile. “I’ll be right back.” He followed Sherry over to the water fountains. After a few seconds of indecision, Sally climbed to her feet and crept after them.

* * *

“Ned,” Sherry murmured, her voice soft and sugary-sweet, “we both care about Sally a lot, don’t we?”  
  
“I do,” he replied guardedly.  
  
“You see,” she continued as though he hadn’t spoken, “Sally has a lot of potential. She could be the most popular girl in school, if it weren’t for. . . .” She let her voice trail off, and looked down at her shoes to conceal a large grin.  
  
Ned, unable to see the smile, felt like he was going to be sick. “'If it weren’t for?'” he prompted.  
  
“Well . . .” Wiping the grin off her face, she met Ned’s eyes. “You.”  
  
“What about me?”  
  
“It’s her friendship with you that’s bringing her down, you know. So it would be better for her if you were to back off.”  
  
“I can’t do that,” he said, appalled. “She’s my best friend.”  
  
Sherry sighed loudly, her patience gone. “You  _idiot,”_  she snarled. “You realize that Sally’s been avoiding you all year?  _She_  knows that she’s better off without you.  _Everyone_  knows it. You’re the only one too stupid to get it. So grow up, moron, and leave Sally alone!”  
  
Ned just stared at her. Sally had been  _trying_  to get away from him? Was she really happier without him? Whenever he’d seen her, she’d seemed so miserable. . . . He didn’t think he should trust Sherry, but some of the things she was saying made sense. He knew he wasn’t well-liked, and he knew, for reasons he couldn’t understand, that Sherry was. And he had hardly seen Sally that year, but he’d assumed that it was because she’d been busy.  
  
It tore him apart, but it made perfect sense. He’d been so  _stupid_. . . . To his humiliation, tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He ducked his head and turned, hurrying back toward his table.  
  
Sally rushed forward from behind a garbage can, dropping all pretense of not listening. “Ned —”  
  
He ignored her, picking up his books and shoving through the large doors that led outside.  
  
At least he didn’t run.

* * *

Sally was paralyzed with horror for a moment. She didn’t like Sherry, but she had never expected her to be this . . . cruel.  
  
Ned . . . poor Ned. He didn’t deserve this, not even a little bit.  
  
He deserved a much better friend than her.  
  
Sally turned to Sherry, who cringed, as though expecting Sally to break her nose. Admittedly, it  _did_  sound like a pretty good idea. But Sally had neither the time nor the strength to do that.  
  
So, with a withering glare at her ex-friend, she turned and ran after Ned.

* * *

He was not crying. Nothing in the world would ever make him admit that the moisture in his eyes was from anything other than the wind, which was blowing in his face.  
  
Even if he was crying, it  _certainly_  wasn’t because of Sally. Just because he’d realized that his only friend hadn’t really liked him, and was better off with other, more popular people, and that Sherry and Sally were probably laughing about what an idiot he was right now. . . .  
  
Why would that bother him?  
  
Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Ned?” Sally asked softly.  
  
Ned lurched away from her, wiping at his eyes furiously.  _Damn_  the wind!  
  
She drew her hand away, biting her lip. “Oh, Ned. . . . I’m so  _sorry!”_  Her voice cracked on the word “sorry,” and she collapsed onto the ground, her hands over her face.  
  
Ned, still not facing her, glanced over his shoulder to see her bawling facedown on the grass, not even worried about ruining her clothes. She looked up, and he turned away, staring resolutely at the soccer field.  
  
“N-Ned . . . I . . . I can’t believe I was so . . .” It was hard to tell what she was saying between sobs. It was a few minutes before she could speak coherently, but when she’d calmed down a bit, she wiped her nose on her sleeve and sat up. “Sherry doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” she said firmly. “I’d rather have you as my only friend than have a million other friends like that crapweasel.”  
  
Despite himself, Ned’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, and he turned slightly to face her. “Then why haven’t you talked to me all year?” he asked, his voice hoarse.  
  
Sally’s face paled, as though she’d hoped he wouldn’t ask that question. “Because . . . I was stupid. I was a total moron, and I thought that I’d rather hang out with Sherry, but I don’t.” She was speaking extremely quickly, and her words tumbled over one another in their haste to be said. “She’s mean, and annoying, and she’s done lots of bad things, and we don’t have nearly as much fun as I do with you. And the other kids aren’t any better. Some of them are smart, but they’re jerks, and the ones who aren’t smart steal all my answers for homework, and I can’t stop them because we’re supposed to be friends. You’re a million times better than them, Ned.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, and she ducked her head. “You’re a million times better than me, too. A billion. You’re so nice, and funny, and smart. And I’ve been such a . . . a  _bitch.”_  
  
The fact that she swore surprised and reassured him more than anything else. Ned turned all the way to face her.  
  
Emboldened by the fact that he was facing her at last, Sally continued. “I know this is selfish for me to ask, and that you’re going to say no, and I’ll understand, but I miss you too much not to ask.” She bit her lip, tears filling her eyes again. “Please be my friend again.”  
  
Ned took a deep breath. “I’d love to, Sal,” he began, watching her tearstained face, still red and puffy from crying, light up, “but how do I know that you won’t go back to those guys?”  
  
“I’d  _never,”_  she said passionately. “I’d rather eat a barrel of flies than talk to any of them again.”  
  
He desperately wanted to believe her. But. . . . “Prove it,” he said.  
  
“W-what?”  
  
“Prove that you’d rather be friend with me than them.”  
  
For a second she looked terrified — assertiveness had never been her strong point. Suddenly, though, her face stiffened in resolve. She looked over her shoulder at the cafeteria, then rose to her feet, taking Ned’s hand and dragging him indoors.  
  
Sherry had returned to her table with all the other popular kids. After a second’s hesitation, Sally strode up to them. “Sherry . . .” She unbuckled a friendship bracelet that Sherry had given her the previous year and tossed it onto the table. “Go to hell. As for the rest of you —” Her eyes traveled up and down the table at all the kids sitting there. All of them were beautiful and charming and vapid. She smirked. “Find someone else to copy your homework off of.” She turned back to Ned, her smirk spreading into a wide grin. “Did I do it?” she asked him eagerly, ignoring the confused and irritated looks the popular kids were giving them.  
  
Ned laughed, dropping her hand and linking arms with her. “Yeah,” he said with a smile, “definitely.” He jerked his head toward the doors that led outside, where their stuff was still lying. “You hungry?”  
  
Sally beamed at him, and ran toward the doors. Ned caught up with her, skipping and singing loudly some song they’d made up in second grade. It was partly a test, to see if she’d be embarrassed to be seen with him at his most hyper, but to his delight she began skipping as well, singing even louder than him.

* * *

Sally sat down on the grass, opening her lunch bag and pulling out a sandwich. "I really  _am_  sorry," she told him yet again.  
  
"I know," he reassured her. They sat in silence for a moment.  
  
"It's been a kind of crappy year, hasn't it?" Sally said after a while.  
  
"Yeah, it has." He grinned, and bopped her on the nose with his carrot. "We'll just have to make sure that next year is better."  
  
She laughed, throwing part of her cookie at him, which he caught and ate. "Next year will be the best. I promise."


	4. Ned's Crush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned falls in love, and it goes about as well as you'd expect.

**Ned's Crush**  
  
“Bye, Sal, Sarah!” Ned said, waving to his friends as he entered his eleventh-grade chemistry classroom. He was only in tenth grade, but, being as smart (or as geeky, depending on whether or not you ask Sally) as he was, he was taking a class with juniors.  
  
He didn’t really like this class, since he didn’t have any friends in it — Sally and Sarah were both in Biology that period, and Patrick took Chemistry in the morning, and it was just after lunch.  
  
Ned collapsed into his seat, noting that the one next to him was empty again. Though Ned and Sally had made friends with Patrick and Sarah, who were the two kids sitting next to him in sixth grade, he still was by no means popular, and probably never would be. He shrugged, sliding down in his chair and pulling out a notebook. Maybe he could get his math homework done before class started — he  _was_  early. . . .  
  
“Ned?”  
  
He looked up to see his teacher, Mr. Whiler, standing over his desk. "Is the seat next to you empty?”  
  
Ned nodded, and Mr. Wiler gestured for someone to come over.  
  
“Ned, this is Cassandra Moser. She’s a new student, and your lab partner. I’m sure you’ll make her welcome. Cassandra, this is Ned McDodd.”  
  
“Hi,” Cassandra said, smiling nervously.  
  
“I . . . I . . . ngh.”  
  
Cassandra was, without a doubt, the most beautiful girl Ned had ever seen. Her hair was long, blonde, and wavy, only slightly darker than her fur, and her eyes were large and blue. She laughed, and Ned, realizing what he’d just said, felt all the blood drain out of his face.  
  
“I mean . . . hi!” What else could he say to repair the damage he’d caused? “Uh . . . Ned! I’m Ned, and uh, hi.” He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to look nonchalant.  
  
“Yeah, he told me.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing pretty green earrings in the shape of butterflies.  
  
“Who told you what?” Ned asked distractedly.  
  
The tense smile Cassandra had been wearing melted, and she regarded him warily. “The  _teacher?_  Told me your  _name?”_  
  
“Right,” he said, not listening — he’d just noticed that Cassandra’s earrings matched her shirt, which made her eyes look turquoise.  
  
“Okay . . .” Cassandra said, sitting down and edging her chair as far away from Ned as possible. She began talking to a girl across the aisle.  
  
“Yeah,” he heard the girl say. “He’s a little . . .” She twirled her finger around her ear. “Weird.”  
  
Ned’s head snapped up, and he looked at the girl Cassandra was talking to.  
  
It was Sherry. He groaned, dropping his head into his hands.  
  
If Cassandra became friends with  _Sherry,_  he was doomed.

* * *

“All right, everyone,” Mr. Wiler said, handing out a packet to each student. “Here’s your lab. Everything you need is on these trays. You have all block. Begin.”  
  
Ned took the packet, reading it over. “Doesn’t seem that hard,” he said to Cassandra. “Can you grab the supply tray?”  
  
Cassandra nodded, still looking at him suspiciously. He managed to make it to a table without falling on his face. He pretended to read over the lab, waiting for Cassandra to return.  
  
 _Okay,_  he told himself, tapping his long fingers on the table.  _This is okay. She thinks you’re a total freak, but so do most people. You have to convince her that you are awesome. That shouldn’t be too hard. Just don’t do anything stupid._  
  
“Here,” Cassandra said, setting the tray down on the table and hurrying over to the other side. “What do we have to do?”  
  
Ned had gotten distracted by her hair, which shimmered in the light. “Oh! Well. . . .” Ned glanced back at the lab again. “We have to combine these chemicals and see how different chemical . . . stuff reacts to each other.” This was good — as long as he didn’t look at her, he could talk perfectly fine. “We’re using the dyes to show contrast or . . . something.” He risked looking up at her, and she smiled slightly.  _Yes! Damage control._  
  
They began working, not speaking much except to comment on the lab or ask a question. But Ned still thought that maybe she liked him — she kept glancing up at him every few seconds. Finally he decided to just go for it.  
  
“Uh, Cassandra?” he asked, breaking the silence that had spanned for seven minutes.  
  
 _Don’t do it,_  his brain warned him.  
  
She turned to him, her blue eyes wide with curiosity. “Hmm?”  
  
Flustered, he began moving vials of dye around, not meeting her eyes. “I was just . . . kind of . . . uh, wondering. . . .”  
  
 _Don’t do it._  
  
“If maybe . . . you wouldn’t mind . . . ngh . . . that is. . . .”  
  
Her expression was slowly growing irritated.  _“What?”_  
  
The venom in her tone made him wince, and he scratched the back of his neck, blushing. “Maybe you would like to . . . ah, go . . . somewhere . . . with me? Maybe?”  
  
Her mouth fell open, and she looked at him with a completely horrified expression. “Are you  _serious?”_  
  
“Yeah . . . or not, you know, it doesn’t really matter . . . to me. . . .” Trying to hide his mortification, he leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand. As he did, though, his elbow hit the small wooden rack that held all the dyes, knocking it forward.  
  
And onto Cassandra, dousing her in a rainbow of colors.  
  
She leapt back, staring at her multicolored clothes and arms in dismay. “You little  _psycho!”_  she exclaimed, causing the entire class to look over at them. “You ruined my clothes!” She examined the ends of her hair, which were speckled with light blue. “Do you  _know_  how long it took to get my hair perfect?”  
  
Ned picked up several paper towels and thrusted them at her, panicked. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, it was an accident, I’m sorry —”  
  
Sherry rushed forward, shoving Ned aside. “Oh my  _god,_  Cassandra. We have to try and wash this off.” She shot a toxic glare at Ned. “Way to go, loser.” She took Cassandra by the elbow and led her out of the classroom.  
  
Ned looked at the paper towels still in his hands. With a sigh, he began cleaning up the dye, ignoring the avid stares and muffled sniggers of his classmates.  
  
 _That,_  his brain said wearily,  _falls under the category of “stupid.”_

* * *

“And then Sherry rushed Cassandra out of the room,” Ned finished, looking up at Sally. They were sitting in his living room after school, and he’d just finished telling her about his scarring experience.  
  
Sally laughed, shaking her head. “Nice going, Ned.”  
  
“It’s not funny!” he insisted, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth nonetheless.  
  
“I know. I’m sorry.” She pressed her lips together, clearly fighting back another giggle. “Maybe it’s not that bad,” she said, getting up from her spot on the floor and rummaging through her backpack.  
  
“Sally, she was  _tie-dyed.”_  
  
She snickered, and pulled a candy bar out of her backpack. “I think this deserves my candy bar,” she said, handing it to him. “To get you through this difficult time.”  
  
He unwrapped the chocolate, breaking off a piece and giving it to Sally. “I just felt like such an idiot.”  
  
“Well, you were.” Ned dropped his face into his hands, and she sat down on the couch next to him. “But she didn't seem like the kind of girl you should be with, anyway. You need to be with someone who’s less shallow.” She smirked. “And has a better sense of humor. And . . . maybe cares less about her clothes. And has a fondness for weirdos.”  
  
“Thanks, Sal, you’re making me feel so much better,” Ned said sarcastically.  
  
She put her arm around his shoulders. “You’ll find someone way better than that stupid Cassandra,” she assured him, giving him a one-armed hug. “Trust me.”  
  
He smiled, leaning his head against hers for a second before pulling away. “I don’t know if I believe you, but thanks.”  
  
“You don’t believe me? Considering how smart I am?” She put her hands on either side of his face, turning him to face her. Her hair had begun to escape from its ponytail, and wisps of red hair were tickling his cheek. “I see great things in your future, Ned McDodd. Including a fantabulously hot girlfriend who will love you to death. All right?”  
  
He blinked, looking into her fiercely determined eyes. He’d never noticed how beautiful they were, or how she had a spray of freckles dotting her nose and cheeks. “I . . . yeah,” he mumbled, half-smiling.  
  
She beamed, kissing his forehead playfully. “I am always right about these things,” she said, pointing at him with one hand on her hip. “Always.” She turned and went into the kitchen in search of food.  
  
Ned touched his forehead, then looked over at where Sally had left, his mouth hanging open slightly. He ran a hand through his brown hair, making it stick up crazily.  
  
“Yeah,” he repeated, listening to Sally rifle through the refrigerator. He shook his head and finished his candy bar, wondering what the hell had just happened.


	5. Tom and Sherry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned's secret crush gets into the hands of the worst person possible.

**Tom and Sherry**  
  
Ned sat with Sarah at their lunch table, happily abusing their tenth-grade Whostory teacher for assigning them a huge project the week before Christmas vacation.  
  
“I mean, how are we supposed to get it done by  _Friday?”_  Sarah demanded, biting fiercely into an apple. “I swear, that man is a sick, twisted old — Ned?”  
  
Ned whipped his head back toward Sarah. “Yeah?”  
  
Sarah leaned forward, trying to see what Ned had been watching. “What’re you looking at?”  
  
“Nothing.” And it was true — he  _had_  been looking at nothing, since Sally and Patrick, who both had gym right before lunch, were nowhere to be seen.  
  
“Oh.” Sarah settled back into her seat, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. Ned smiled blithely at her, his leg bouncing nervously under the table, and forced himself not to look over his shoulder to see if Sally and Patrick were coming.  
  
 _Where are they?_  he thought impatiently.  
  
 _Maybe this is a good thing,_  the more intelligent part of his brain chimed in.  _At least now you can sit here and figure out what’s going on here_  on your own. _Don’t look for Sally — just think._  
  
Ned desperately needed to think. The only thing was, he wasn’t sure he wanted to.  
  
Ever since that one kiss with Sally (if you could call it a kiss), Ned had been feeling very . . . strange. For one thing, he felt jumpy and super-sensitive; it felt like his skin had been covered in tiny little sensors, specifically tuned for whenever a girl came anywhere near him.  
  
The  _really_  weird thing was, those little sensors went crazy when Sally was around. He always felt all tingly, and his stomach tied up in knots.  
  
He’d wondered if he was sick. After about twelve trips to the doctor’s, however, his doctor had insisted that Ned was perfectly fine, and told Ned to not come back for another several months.  
  
 _Then_  he’d toyed with the idea he was insane. Though this wasn’t a pleasant notion, it was the most plausible explanation he could come up with, and he kept it shelved in the back of his mind for contemplation.  
  
He tapped his foot nervously. He wished Sally would just  _show up;_  it wasn’t much fun wondering if he was crazy. He looked around subtly. Neither of his friends were there.  
  
Of course, when he’d asked Patrick, his friend didn’t think he was insane at all. In fact, he’d laughed and clapped Ned on the back, saying, “My boy is growing up!” According to Patrick, Ned had a crush on Sally.  
  
It wasn’t that he was utterly unfamiliar with crushes — Patrick seemed to have a new one every week. And he’d even had a crush . . . once. Just never on someone he’d known back when he’d used to wet the bed. Sally was his best  _friend._  Liking her had to be against some kind of friend rule.  _It’s good that I don’t, then,_  he told himself emphatically, glancing over his shoulder — no Sally. He tapped his long fingers on the table.  
  
 _Look,_  his brain said, surprising Ned.  
  
 _I did,_  he replied.  _She’s not there._  
  
 _Look at what you’re_  doing.  
  
Ned blinked, coming down to Whoville for a moment. He realized that he hadn’t been listening to a word Sarah had said; he was glancing around every few seconds and simultaneously tapping his right foot on the floor and both hands on the table at a pace that could only be described as alarmingly fast. With difficultly, he forced himself to be still, opening his water bottle with exaggerated nonchalance and avoiding Sarah’s curious gaze.  _Doesn’t mean anything,_  he told his brain — funny how it was starting to feel like a completely different person — coldly.  
  
 _So you want Sally to show up_  because . . .  
  
 _She’s my_  friend.  _And_  friends  _like to hang out with their_  friends.  
  
 _Uh-huh._  
  
Ned was growing tired of his brain, or conscience, or whatever it was. He wished there was a button he could push to shut it off. However, there wasn’t, so he listened to Sarah talk about some great art project she was working on.  
  
“Hey guys!” Sarah suddenly exclaimed. Ned twisted around in his seat to see Sally and Patrick coming up to their table. “Where’ve you been?”  
  
“Patrick had to talk to some teacher,” Sally said, rolling her eyes and sitting down next to Sarah. “He’s aiming to be as geeky as you, Ned,” she teased.  
  
Patrick shook his head. “Well, at least  _I_  didn’t spend ten minutes walking down a hallway because I had to talk to  _every single person I know!”_  He sat down next to Ned. “Girls cannot shut up.”  
  
“What were you talking about?” Sarah asked keenly. For some reason Patrick winced, then glanced apologetically at Ned.  
  
Sally slapped her forehead. “Can you believe I actually  _forgot?”_  she asked Patrick, laughing. She had a nice laugh — very light and happy without being too girlish.  
  
Patrick merely shrugged, looking like he regretted saying anything.  
  
Sally’s eyebrows drew together, but she shook her head and turned back to Sarah. “Tom — yes, Tom  _Birch,”_  she added in response to Sarah’s unasked question, “smiled at me in the hall!”  
  
Sarah’s mouth fell open. “No way!” She swiveled around in her chair so that her entire body was facing Sally. “Tell me everything.”  
  
She shrugged. “Not much to tell. He just said hi, and that he’d see me in science.  _And,_  when he passed me, our arms brushed!” She laughed, again, but it wasn’t as nice a laugh as before. It was too high-pitched. “My arm feels all tingly.”  
  
Ned set down the orange he’d picked up, feeling sick. Patrick shot another glance at him, his mouth quirking up into a rueful half-smile.  
  
“He  _must_  like you,” Sarah said eagerly. “He didn’t  _have_  to say hi to you if he didn’t  _want_  to.” She turned to Ned and Patrick. “Right, guys?”  
  
“No.” The word was out of Ned’s mouth before his brain had the opportunity to stop it. After a moment’s hesitation, Patrick jumped in.  
  
“Yeah — it might be a reflex or something.”  
  
“Uh-huh. You see someone, you say hi. That’s the way it is.” Both were speaking extremely quickly and nodding their heads like idiots.  
  
Sally looked disappointed, but Sarah merely sighed. “Ignore them,” she said. “Boys don’t know anything.” They proceeded to break down every instant of their interaction, from expressions to body language to tone. Ned and Patrick just sat there, watching the girls perform this complicated ritual. Patrick was clearly feeling too guilty to say anything, and Ned was busy thinking.  
  
He didn’t get it. Sally and Sarah were both smart — Sally in particular was probably the most intelligent girl he knew. But they were both acting so ridiculously  _stupid_  over some ten-second exchange in the hallway. He pulled out a sheet of paper and a pencil.  
  
 _“Why are they acting like such idiots over this?”_  he scrawled, passing the paper over to Patrick. He looked down at it, his eyes narrowed. A few minutes later, he reached over, taking Ned’s pen and scribbling a hasty response. While Sally and Sarah weren’t looking, he slid the paper back over to Ned.  
  
He read the response anxiously.  **“I dunno. Girls are just weird like that, I guess. Even the sane ones go nuts. I think it’s hormones. That or their brains fall out.”**  
  
He shook his head, looking up at Patrick and chuckling slightly. Patrick shrugged. “Don’t ask me, then,” he mouthed in response to Ned’s incredulous expression.  
  
Ned leaned closer to Patrick. “What am I supposed to do?” he hissed.  
  
Patrick looked confused. “Is ‘nothing’ the wrong answer?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Oh. . . . Wait. I thought you said you didn’t like her.”  
  
“I don’t. I just . . . I don’t trust Tom. He’s too . . . green.”  
  
“What are you two whispering about?” Sarah asked, suddenly noticing their conversation. “You’re not a couple or anything, right?”  
  
Sally laughed — she had gone back to sounding like she usually did. “Come on, Sarah. Don’t interfere in young love.” They’d seemed to have exhausted their discussion of Tom Birch and were acting like normal Whos again. Maybe Patrick was right; maybe girls  _were_  crazy.  
  
Just as Ned was breathing a sigh of relief, Tom walked by, flashing Sally a cool, confident smile. “Hey Sal,” he said.  
  
“Hi,” she replied, a silly grin spreading across her face. She waved, watching him walk away.  
  
Sarah grabbed Sally’s wrist. “Could he love you more?”  
  
“Maybe I should ask him out,” she agreed, craning her neck to see his table.  
  
“No,” Ned said, surprising himself again. His three friends turned to him, eyebrows raised.  
  
“Why not?” Sarah and Sally asked in unison.  
  
“Ah. . . .” Ned glanced at Patrick, who nodded eagerly for him to continue. “Isn’t he seeing that girl?”  
  
The effect was, under different circumstances, extremely amusing. Both girls’ mouths fell open simultaneously, their eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. They looked like identical mutant aliens.  _“What_  girl?” Sarah demanded.  
  
“That one with the, uh . . .” he pulled at his short brown hair, “hair, and the . . . you know, face.”  
  
They both just stared at him. “The hair and the face?” Sally repeated skeptically.  
  
“Yeah.” Ned shrugged, as though he’d been perfectly clear. “You don’t know her?”  
  
“How do you know he's seeing anyone?” Sarah asked.  
  
“Well. . . .” He looked at Patrick, slightly panicked. Patrick chimed in quickly.  
  
“Didn’t that guy tell you about it?”  
  
“What guy?” Sarah's expression made it clear that if Ned didn't supply a good answer, she'd hit him.  
  
Ned rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “He’s . . . tall, and has . . .”  
  
“Let me guess,” Sally said, amusement and impatience etched onto her face, “the hair and the face?”  
  
“Oh, so you know him?”  
  
Sally crossed her arms, studying him with pursed lips. Sarah’s eyes suddenly lit up with understanding. Not liking that look, Ned clambered to his feet. “I’m . . . going to get something to eat. Come on, Patrick.”  
  
As they made their way over to the lunch line, Patrick turned to Ned. “That was smooth,” he commented.  
  
“I know.” He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Maybe we can beat Tom up or something. Scare him away from Sally."  
  
"Yeah," Patrick said with a laugh. "He's only captain of the wrestling team. We can take him, seeing as we're so buff." He held up his pudgy arm and made a muscle -- at least, Ned  _assumed_  he'd made a muscle. He couldn't actually see one.  
  
Ned realized that Patrick was right; Ned was too spindly and skinny to be anything more than a punching bag, and Patrick was several pounds overweight. Their friendship had actually began in sixth grade in gym, because they were both hiding against the wall, terrified of the dodgeballs the other team was throwing.  
  
Patrick sighed, his expression softening.“Relax. You’re taking this like it’s the end of the world. So you like Sally — it’s not a big deal, you kno — why are you looking at me like that?”  
  
Ned was staring at Patrick with a look of mingled shock and horror. Patrick turned around to see Sherry standing a few feet behind them in line, staring at them with amazement.  
  
“Oh. Oops.” Patrick turned back to Ned nervously. “Maybe she didn’t hear. The cafeteria's loud.”  
  
But, judging from her triumphant grin, she had.

* * *

Sherry knew that she didn’t really have a reason to hate Ned. Just because he was going to be Mayor, and he was goofy and strange, and was friends with Sally — who could easily have made them both the most popular girls in school — didn’t mean that she should. . . .  
  
Never mind. She would always hate his stupid, dorky Mayor guts. And she didn’t even care anymore. She turned and brushed past her friends, heading over to a table across the room.  
  
She could never tell Sally what she’d heard — Sal would never believe her. However, there were other ways to make sure the news got around to her.  
  
She finally reached her destination, sliding into the seat next to a dark-haired Who that was chatting on her cell phone, writing a note, and talking to the boy on her left at the same time. She was Greta Haloo, the biggest mouth in the school.  
  
Sherry waited until Greta had gotten off the phone before leaning forward, looking around to see if Ned had followed her. He hadn’t, but she could still see him standing in the same spot, watching her. Their eyes locked — his pleading, hers expressionless. Then, without breaking eye contact, she put her lips to Greta’s ear and whispered the fateful words:  
  
“Guess who Mayor McLoser likes?”


	6. Don't Say Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sally finds out. It's awkward.

**Don't Say Sorry**  
  
Sally didn’t understand the looks she’d been receiving for the past few days. They were pitying, curious, and one or two were even resentful. And everywhere she went, whispers followed. She assumed she was part of some juicy gossip, and that she’d find out about it later. She wasn’t going to worry, though — she had better things to do.  
  
It wasn’t  _everyone,_  of course; the guys didn’t seem to care, and even most of the girls acted fairly normal around her. It was the school’s elite, the gossipmongers, the ones who always hunted her friends down as their targets, that really seemed to follow her every movement with bated breath and hungry stares.  
  
And she’d admit it: it scared the crap out of her. Because Sherry had been strutting around with a smug grin on her face. And anything that made Sherry that happy couldn’t possibly be a good thing.  
  
Sally passed a group of girls that were entering their science class. They were another gang of quote-unquote “losers” that she wasn’t exactly friends with but didn’t mind talking to from time to time. They all looked the same, dressed the same, and even  _acted_  the same — it was hard to tell them apart, to be honest. She smiled at them, trying to remember which was which (of course, they all had the same classes). Jane, Janet, Jackie, and Jamie. That was it. “Hi,” she said cheerfully, relieved that she’d remembered all their names.  
  
Three of the girls smiled halfheartedly, while the fourth — Jamie, she thought — merely nodded, her jaw set. Sally’s grin faded, and she ducked her head, brushing past them.  
  
As she settled into her seat by the window, they all sat down in chairs a few rows ahead of hers. They leaned toward each other and started whispering; they were trying to be quiet, but their voices carried easily back to Sally.  
  
“What does he  _see_  in her, anyway?” Jamie hissed. “She’s not even that pretty.”  
  
While the others fervently agreed, Jane glanced back at Sally thoughtfully. Clearly none of them should consider a career in reconnaissance — they were about as subtle as an earthquake. She pretended she didn’t notice, though, because she wanted to see why they were discussing her. “She’s kind of nice-looking,” Jane said, turning back to her friends. “She’s definitely his type. Very bookish.”  
  
“Well, she’s not as cute as you,” Janet added.  
  
“Of course not,” Jackie agreed.  
  
“I can be bookish, can’t I?” Jamie asked anxiously.  
  
“Absolutely!” Jane said.  
  
“Totally,” Janet agreed.  
  
“And you could pull it off better than she can,” Jackie finished. They were rather like clones, Sally observed. Four bodies, one brain. It was a mean thing to think, but seeing as they were talking about her (and not favorably), she thought she had the right to be a little catty.  
  
They all turned to her, and she pretended to write in her notebook until they’d looked away.  
  
“Do you think she  _knows?”_  one of them asked.  
  
“Probably not. I mean, would  _you_  tell her?”  
  
“Maybe she’s already heard.”  
  
“Then why would she still hang out with him?”  
  
“That’d just be cruel.”  
  
“Unless they’re dating.”  
  
Jane, Janet, and Jamie all gasped theatrically at this pronouncement, and Jamie put her hands over her mouth. “They  _are,_  aren’t they?” she breathed, looking like the world was going to end. “Oh, this is just  _too_  awful!”  
  
 _Come on,_  Sally thought. She still didn’t know what was going on, but practically nothing warranted such a dramatic response.  _Show some grit, for crying out loud._  
  
“Nuh-uh,” Jane, the most sensible one — probably the one with the largest portion of their collective brain — said, shaking her head so that strands of purple hair hit Janet and Jackie. “We’d have heard.” She patted Jamie on the shoulder. “You’ve still got a chance, hon.”  
  
Jamie giggled, shot one last haughty glance at Sally, and launched into a long-winded story about some girl who’d cut in front of her in the hallway. As the other girls cooed at and coddled poor Jamie, Sally decided that there was no point in eavesdropping, as the class was starting.  
  
She listened to the teacher drone on, occasionally writing down a word or phrase and watching the clock. She wasn’t paying as close attention as she should have — a large portion of her brain was pondering the conversation she’d overheard. She wasn’t overly concerned with being talked about, but it was certainly a bizarre experience. She’d never been the subject of gossip, and she didn’t enjoy it.  
  
And, of course, she couldn’t help but wonder what they’d been talking about. She hadn’t done anything newsworthy, had she?  
  
She was drawn back into the classroom by the sound of her name from the back of the room. She glanced up at the teacher, who probably wouldn’t have noticed if a meteor hit the room, and turned toward the back.  
  
Her heart leapt into her throat as she saw Tom. His friends were all laughing uproariously at something he’d said. She angled herself so that she was still facing the front of the room, but kept her head turned toward their general direction.  
  
“— actually think he has a shot with Sally?” Tom said. “I mean, what is he, stupid?”  
  
“Yeah,” one of his friends answered, causing another round of hilarity.  
  
“I don’t think he’s that bad,” someone else said. “He’s actually pretty nice.”  
  
Silence fell over the group. It was a tense silence, the kind that meant everyone was waiting for someone's head to go flying. Tom just looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Go. Now,” he ordered, a small smile on his face.  
  
The guy glanced from Tom to the others, unsure if it was a joke or not. But when Tom flicked his hand toward the back of the room, the Who stood, gathering his books and hurrying away. The teacher, to Sally’s amazement, had noticed nothing.  
  
“I swear, Mayor McLoser gets lamer every day,” Tom continued, as though there had been no interruption. Sally stiffened, her jaw clenching.  
  
Sally stiffened. Thanks to Sherry and a few of her half-wit friends, that name had spread across the school, and was the favorite insult of anyone who didn’t like Ned. For a while, it had merely been “Mayor Loser,” but around the ninth grade, they’d realized that “McLoser” sounded more like “McDodd.” When Ned and Sally had first heard the new nickname, it had amused them to no end — he’d actually suggested giving them some sort of prize for finally learning his last name. But now, almost a year later, it had just grown irritating.  
  
Suddenly she heard the sound of a chair scraping on the floor, followed by footsteps. She turned to see Tom sit down in the seat next to hers. She looked down so that she wasn’t looking directly at him, but could still see him in her peripheral vision.  
  
“Hey, Sal,” he said. “Boring class, huh?”  
  
She looked up and gave him a strained smile and a nod, but quickly dropped her eyes to her notebook again. Anyone who insulted her friends didn’t deserve a minute of her time, and anyone who insulted Ned didn’t deserve a second of it. She hoped Tom would get the hint quickly. However, seeing as he was a senior in a sophomore science class, her hopes weren’t exactly high. She wondered if he was stupid or lazy. She guessed he just didn't care about science, since he was in advanced Whostory. It didn't make sense.  
  
“Hey, have you seen McLos — I mean, McDodd — recently?”  
  
Sally kept her head bent over her desk before deciding that she couldn’t reasonably ignore the question. Besides, she was curious as to where this conversation was going. “This morning,” she replied coolly. “Why?” She tried to make her voice as flat and uninterested as possible; she didn’t want to encourage him.  
  
He smiled, leaning back in his seat with a very satisfied air. “It’s nice that you spend time with him, considering. . . . “ He trailed off, looking up at the teacher with exaggerated nonchalance.  
  
She couldn’t resist replying to that dig. “Of course I hang out with him,” she snapped. “He’s my best friend. Why  _wouldn’t_  I hang out with him?”  
  
Tom nodded. “Yep.  _Friends._  I’m sure  _friendship_  is what he has in mind.” And that tone, combined with a knowing grin and a wink. . . . How could she  _not_  get it?  
  
All the blood drained out of her face. “What?” she whispered, not even caring that she was supposed to hate Tom, not even caring that she was supposed to be listening to the teacher. None of that compared to the gigantic, colossal, monstrous realization she’d just come to.  
  
And, had she been able to move, she would have slapped herself. Because  _of course._  That was why he didn’t want her to ask Tom out (which she hadn’t, thank God). That was why Jamie — who had  _told_  her that she liked Ned weeks ago — was so upset with her. That was why Sherry was so happy; she must have spread that all around the school.  
  
And little things made sense now, too. Why Ned wouldn’t look directly at her when they were talking, but would stare at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. Why he jumped like he’d been struck with white-hot metal when their hands or arms or legs brushed. Why he blushed when there was no reason to.  
  
 _Of course._  Now that she knew, it was completely obvious. The only thing that didn’t make sense was how she could have possibly missed it. Was she that self-absorbed?  
  
But how  _could_  she have known? Who can look at their best friend and say, “Oh yeah, he totally likes me”? Who could be that objective?  
  
“You didn’t hear it from me,” Tom whispered, smiling. Sally didn’t respond.  
  
“Birch!” the teacher suddenly barked, startling Sally. “Get back in your seat!”  
  
Tom rolled his eyes at Sally, climbing slowly to his feet. “See you, Sal,” he said, patting her shoulder. She shrank back, feeling a shiver of revulsion from his touch. Amazing how fast crushes disappeared. In the span of five minutes she'd gone from infatuation to abhorrence. The world was a strange place.  
  
The teacher wrote the homework on the board, and she copied it down obediently. She had no idea what the assignment was. When the bell rang, she bolted out of her seat, shoving Jamie and Janet out of the way.  
  
Lunch was next, which was a relief — she had to talk to Sarah.  
  
Luckily she was sitting with Patrick at their usual table. When she saw Sally’s face, she leapt to her feet.  
  
“Oh my god, you’ve heard,” she said, looking sympathetic and guilty. “I’m  _so_  sorry I didn’t tell you. I —”  
  
She broke off as Patrick stood wordlessly and left, almost sprinting toward the door.  
  
Sarah watched him go, a confused expression on her face, then turned back toward Sally, shaking her head. “Anyway, I’m sorry I — Wait. What do you know?” She put both hands, palms down, onto the table and leaned forward. “Tell me everything.”

* * *

Ned had hardly entered the cafeteria when Patrick collided with him, knocking them both into the wall.  
  
“Patrick, what. . . . Are you okay?” Ned asked, wincing and rubbing the back of his head, which had hit the wall pretty hard.  
  
Patrick waved his hand, disregarding both his and Ned’s possible injuries. “Listen, Ned . . . Sally knows.”  
  
"Knows? Knows wha —  _Oh."_  He suddenly felt like he was going to be sick. “What do I do?”  
  
Patrick shrugged. “Hey, I asked you that about a week ago, back when this whole thing started. What  _possibly_  made you think she wouldn’t find out?”  
  
“I. . . .” What had convinced Ned was a stupid, insane hope, hope that had morphed into optimism and then into utter certainty. Clearly he was crazy, but it’s hard to combat that kind of hope. “How much does she know?”  
  
“Well, she’s talking to Sarah now, so . . . everything.”  
  
“What do I do?”  
  
Patrick looked absolutely stumped. “I have no clue, Ned,” he said sadly. “You could always lie, and say you never liked her, and that it was just a rumor that had gotten out of control.”  
  
He shook his head. “Nah, I can’t lie.”  
  
“Then maybe you could . . . Oh, shi — Gotta go.” He brushed back Ned, heading in the other direction.  
  
Ned turned around to see Sally, standing behind him with her hands folded in front of her. She had been biting her lips, and a small dot of blood sat like a small bead on her lower lip. Her hair was frizzy from running her fingers through it, and slightly damp with sweat. She looked nervous enough to pee herself.  
  
And she was absolutely beautiful.  
  
Probably not to anyone else, he thought, noticing people walk past without a second glance at either of them. But they didn't know her.  
  
“Ned?”

* * *

Sally was worried about her best friend. For one thing, his eyes were about three times too large, and he was shaking like a leaf. She wanted to give him a hug, try to stop those tremors. Like she would if there weren’t . . . complications. She took a deep breath, wiped at the blood on her lip, and continued. “Can we talk?”  
  
His face paled. He swallowed, and gestured toward the wall, seemingly unable to speak.  
  
When they reached relative privacy, they both looked at each other for a few minutes, waiting. Finally Ned said, “You had something you wanted to say?” His voice was hoarse, like he hadn't been using it all day.  
  
“Ah, yeah.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve heard some . . . things.”  
  
She’d expected him to deny it, but to her relief he didn’t. “I know," he said softly, looking down at his feet. "And I’m sorry.” He was going to make this easy for her. Of course he would — this was Ned. He’d go out of his way to help anyone. “But it’s okay, because Patrick says it’s just a crush, and — let’s face it — he knows much more about it . . . well, these kinds of things . . . this general area of knowledge . . . you know . . . than I do. So it’ll be like normal soon.” Under his breath, he muttered, “I don’t know  _how_  soon, though.”  
  
Sally didn’t know what to say. She closed her eyes, swallowed hard, and said, “But . . . I . . . are you okay?”  
  
He smiled. “Of course I’m okay. I’ll be fine."  
  
“Ned . . .” Sally closed her eyes. “Is it going to be weird between us now?”  
  
He shrugged. “It might be. But I’m always weird. I’m used to it.”  
  
She couldn’t smile at his weak attempt at humor. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.  
  
“Hey — don’t be. You’re not allowed to be sorry. Okay?” She started to say something, but he interrupted her. “Let me put it this way: If you  _are_  sorry, then I’ll beat you up.”  
  
She laughed, and he pretended to be offended. “You don’t think I could beat you up?”  
  
“Ned, I don’t think you could beat a chipmunk up,” she shot back.  
  
He pouted exaggeratedly, and the tension broke. They started walking back to their table, where Sarah and Patrick were pretending not to watch them.  
  
“Why are you so nice?” Sally asked.  
  
“I don’t know. It must just be one of my Awesome Powers of Ned.”  
  
“Powers?  _Plural?”_  
  
“Yes. It so happens that I have many powers.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
He paused, his eyebrows scrunching together. “I . . . well . . . I have an uncanny ability to get hit in the face repeatedly with a stapler. My face is a stapler magnet.”  
  
Sally rolled her eyes. “Ned, I  _threw_  the stapler at you! It didn’t throw itself!”  
  
“But your aim is so bad that it never would have hit me. It  _swerved_  so that it would hit my face!”  
  
“Fine, fine.” Sally knew she would never win this argument. “Any other powers?”  
  
“I’m adorable.”  
  
“Oh, really?”  
  
“Sure. You don’t think so?” He threw his head back and put a hand on his hip, batting his eyelashes and grinning vapidly. “I’m amazing, aren’t I?”  
  
“Yes, you’re gorgeous. The vision of loveliness.”  
  
He looked down at her, dropping the pose. “Do I detect sarcasm in that statement?”  
  
“No. Not at all,” Sally replied sarcastically.  
  
Ned sniffed daintily. “Fine. If you don’t appreciate my beauty, I’ll go find someone who does.” He strode ahead of her, swinging his hips like a runway model.  
  
She hurried to catch up with him, laughing. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re beautiful.”  
  
He raised his eyebrows. “’Sorry?’”  
  
“Oh, right. I’m sor —  _agh!”_  She clapped her hands over her mouth.  
  
Ned sighed. “All right. I guess I won’t beat you up today. But next time, you’d better watch out.”  
  
Sally smiled. “You’d better not cry.” He looked confused, so she continued, adding a slightly melodic note it her words. “You’d better not pout. . . .”  
  
His face lit up. “I’m telling you why,” he finished, shaking his head. “Very festive. And good timing — Christmas vacation starts tomorrow.” He kept walking, singing the rest of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town!” Sally lagged behind, watching him carefully.  
  
He was trying too hard. His voice was just a little too loud, his smile was just a little too bright, his jokes were just a little too forced to be completely real. He was trying very hard for her, and she was trying just as hard for him. And that made everything weird. It made their awkwardness that much more prominent.  
  
Oh, well. Sally sat down next to Patrick, smiling reassuringly at Sarah. It would get better with time. She watched Patrick and Ned argue over whether or not chocolate was better than vanilla, and Sarah tell them they were both being stupid, that strawberry beat them both. Sally didn’t really feel like joining in, but she felt a warm feeling inside watching them bicker. They were her friends, and they always would be, no matter how weird things got.  
  
She took a bite into her sandwich, noticing Ned’s happy expression darken for a split second when he thought no one was looking.  
  
 _Maybe._


	7. Guy Talk and Girl Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick tries to make Ned move on, but Sally isn't so sure she wants him to.

**Guy Talk and Girl Talk**  
  
Sally sat down at her desk, pressing her forehead into the faux-wood and praying for a sudden snowstorm. It was  _April —_  how could it be possibly be so hot? Even with the lights off, everyone was sticky and uncomfortable. She lifted her head and put her feet on the chair next to hers.  
  
“Hey, Sal.” She looked up to see Ned standing over her, smiling cheerfully. “Would you mind putting your feet down?”  
  
She set her feet on the floor and turned, letting her head fall back onto the desk with a  _thunk._  Since Whonglish was the only class they had together, and since Ned was  _always_  late — it was remarkable, his inability to be on time — Sally had to save his seat.  
  
“You all right?” he asked.  
  
She grunted, and he laughed. “It’s only going to get hotter, you know,” he continued.  
  
That time, she couldn’t even summon up the energy to grunt. Ned handed her his water bottle, which was still slightly cold. After taking a drink, she pressed the bottle against her forehead. “Thanks,” she said, handing it back to him.  
  
“I would hate being a girl,” he observed, setting the bottle on his desk. “All that hair. . . . It must suck.”  
  
“You’re really too sweet, you know that?” she teased, feeling a lot better now that she wasn’t bordering on dehydration.  
  
He laughed, shaking his head. Suddenly his eyes met hers, and he looked away. Sally groaned inwardly — though their relationship had been much more comfortable since Christmas, there were still awkward moments where she wished . . .  _something._  She wished things could go back to normal. She wished she was a boy. She wished a lot of things, none of which could come true.  
  
“All right,” their Whonglish teacher said, breaking the class out of its heat-induced stupor. “I know it’s hot out, but you still have eighty minutes before you can go home and swim or eat ice cream or whatever you want. Until that happy moment, however, you are stuck with me. Now, if you’d be so obliging as to take out your books. . . .”  
  
Sally picked up the book she’d chosen to read for their project. The cover was of a Who standing in a snowstorm with a puppy at his heels. He didn’t look very happy, but she wished she was in his place — she would rather face hypothermia than heat stroke. She stole Ned’s water bottle again.  
  
“Now, I want you to get into partners and discuss your novels for about ten minutes,” the teacher instructed. "Get a feel for the characters." Their teacher was very fond of their students getting "a feel" of things, especially things that were intangible and no one could ever "feel" despite their best efforts.  
  
Ned turned to Sally, setting his book in her desk. Unsurprisingly, it was about twice as thick as everyone else’s. She opened it, rolling her eyes — of course, the type was about half as large, too.  
  
“Okay, this was about —”  
  
Ned’s voice trailed off as a pretty blue-furred girl came up to their desks. Sally’s eyes narrowed; what was Jamie doing here? “Sally?” she said shyly, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Can I ask you something . . . ahm, over there?”  
  
Sally was suspicious immediately — she hadn’t forgotten sixth grade. But Ned smiled. “Of course, Jamie,” he said. “Just don’t take too long, because you know how exciting Whonglish is. We don’t want to miss a second of it.”  
  
Jamie giggled, and put her hand on Ned’s shoulder. “You’re so  _funny,_  Ned.”  
  
“You’re so  _subtle,_  Jamie,” Sally muttered, fingering the ring on her right hand. Jamie flushed purple and led Sally over to the other side of the room, where she waited, playing with her hair and staring at her feet.  
  
After several seconds -- during which Sally had been tempted to either flee or slap the girl -- she spoke. “Listen, Sal . . . I was just wondering . . . _ifyouweredatingNed.”_  She said the last part in one breath, the words tumbling over one another.  
  
It took Sally a moment to figure out what Jamie had said. When she had, though, she was absolutely gobsmacked. “What?  _No!”_  
  
“So you’re just friends?”  
  
“Absolutely.”  
  
“Oh.” She seemed to relax. “Good.” A second later, her body tensed again. “So it’d be okay if . . . maybe I asked him out?”  
  
Sally blinked; for a moment she couldn’t do anything else. “You want to ask out  _Ned?”_  A hysterical giggle bubbled up in her throat; she swallowed it down.  
  
Jamie nodded eagerly.  
  
“You. Want to ask out . . . Ned.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“So you  _like_  Ned? Enough to ask him out?”  
  
“Yes!” She was beginning to sound impatient.  
  
Sally burst out laughing.  
  
“Hey!” Jamie blushed again. “What’s so funny about that?”  
  
She was laughing too hard to say anything. “You . . . you want. . . .”  
  
Jamie crossed her arms. “Stop it!”  
  
Sally forced herself to calm down, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It’s fine if you want to. . . .” She closed her eyes to keep from cracking up again. “It’s fine.”  
  
Jamie beamed. “All right!” She hesitated for a second. “So . . . do you think I have a shot?”  
  
She opened her mouth and started laughing. She stumbled back to her desk, still giggling and leaving an affronted-looking Jamie behind.  
  
Ned looked up. “What was that about?”  
  
“You’ll . . . you’ll find out soon enough.” Sally bit her lip to keep a smile off her face.  
  
He raised his eyebrows. “But it’s something funny?”  
  
“Well . . . not to Jamie and probably not to you. But it is to me.” She chuckled again, shaking her head.  
  
He shrugged. “Okay.” They sat in silence for a few seconds. Suddenly he said, “I’m sorry — I have to ask. Why is it funny to you, but wouldn’t be to me?”  
  
“It’s —” But she wasn’t sure how to finish. Why was it so funny? Was it just because Ned had never had a girlfriend? Patrick had never had a girlfriend, but if Jamie had wanted to ask  _him_  out, would she think it was that amusing?  
  
 _No,_  she admitted. It’d actually be pretty cool.  
  
But Ned . . . with a  _girlfriend?_  
  
It was just too . . . weird. She couldn’t wrap her head around it. She couldn’t even picture it.  
  
Maybe it was because this was Jamie. She snickered. Yeah, that was it. Just the idea of them walking down the hallway, Jamie chattering incessantly like a monkey about various objects of gossip. Oh, and she cried all the time — imagine  _Ned_  trying to comfort a sobbing Jamie over the fact that someone called her clumsy.  
  
That wasn’t the kind of girl he should be with. He needed to be with someone who wanted to talk about interesting things, like books and movies and each other. He needed someone who could make him laugh — with one heck of a sarcastic streak — and could appreciate when things were just plain stupid or funny. Jamie had all the humor of a wet rock, and the constant crying would be too much for Ned to handle. Most importantly, he needed someone  _smart,_ whose idea of stimulating entertainment wasn’t a  _Whoteen_  magazine.  
  
Maybe she was being too mean, though. While Ned liked hanging out with her because she was smart and interesting (and modest, as Sarah often teased, but Sally didn’t care — she was one for being proud of what she was good at. Maybe it made her a jerk, but she didn’t mind). Anyway, just because that was who he liked to be friends with didn’t mean that was who he liked to date. Who knew — maybe he  _wanted_  to go out with a blue, oversensitive gossip-monkey.  
  
Anyway, it wasn’t any of her business. She sat back in her chair before realizing she’d never answered Ned’s question. She chuckled nervously. “Ah, nothing. I have a strange sense of humor — don’t worry about it.”  
  
He raised his eyebrows. “Okay.”  
  
“All right,” the teacher said, making them flinch and look up, “you should have finished discussing your novels —”  
  
“Oops,” Ned whispered with a guilty smile, gesturing at their unopened books.  
  
“— and begun working on your projects, which are due in two weeks’ time. You may work on them for the remainder of class.”  
  
Ned watched Sally pull out a sheet of paper, feeling confused. What was going on? Part of him kind of wanted to ask Jamie . . . but he didn’t really like talking to Jamie. It might be worth it to understand, though.  
  
 _Oh, well,_  he thought, looking down at his book and flipping it open.  _She said I’d find out soon enough, so I guess I will._

* * *

“I  _know!_  I can’t believe it either!”  
  
Patrick sighed and adjusted the volume on his music player, but he couldn’t drown out the ever-so-piercing shrieks of Jamie Kinsley. Honestly, did she want her business to be  _everyone’s_  business?  
  
Whatever; he honestly didn’t care. It wasn’t that he was heartless — in fact, he hoped that he was quite the opposite — but Jamie had a problem every day, and a  _humungous, life-ruining_  one every week.  
  
“Have you talked to either of them since Friday?” Jane asked as he walked past in the hallway.  
  
“No! I mean, if Sally thought it was  _so_  funny, what’s the point in asking Ned out?!”  
  
Patrick froze — causing one of the students behind him to snarl, “Hey, watch it!” — and backed up several steps — much to the annoyance of pretty much everyone walking behind him — until he was level with the girls.  
  
“Maybe it’s not worth it,” Jackie said. “I mean, if he doesn’t like you, that would just be  _too_  humiliating.”  
  
“Ask him out!”  
  
The four girls turned to face him, looking absolutely like Patrick felt, which was something along the lines of “Omigosh, did you just  _say_  that?”  
  
“Were you  _listening_  to us?” Janet demanded.  
  
“Ah. . . .” Of course, aside from that brilliant comment, his mind was completely blank. “Yes.”  
  
Jamie crossed her arms, looking him up and down haughtily. “This is a  _private_  conversation,” she said coldly.  
  
 _Oh, right — that’s why you were having it at the top of your voices in the middle of a crowded hallway._  But that probably wouldn’t make them any more inclined to listen to him, so he bit his tongue and said, “Sorry. It’s just that you should definitely ask Ned out. It’d be good for him.”  
  
“Good for him how?” Jane asked curiously. Jamie, however, completely ignored her friend’s question.  
  
“And how do  _you_  know?”  
  
Patrick shrugged. “I’m his friend.”  
  
Suddenly Patrick was the most interesting person in Whoville. The girls bombarded him with questions about Ned: whether Jamie actually had a chance, whether he’d like to go to a movie or dinner or both, whether he wore boxers or briefs. (That last question was Jamie’s, and Patrick was a little alarmed that she thought that  _he_  would know the answer).  
  
“Just  _ask_  him!” he finally said, taking a few steps away. “I’m going to be late for class!”  
  
That, of course, only led to more questions. “What class is it?” “Is Ned in it?” “What does he have next?”  
  
Patrick had always been a little claustrophobic, and felt beads of sweat form along his forehead. “Art. Yes. Lunch,” he said, answering their questions in order. “I have to go.” He turned and practically sprinted away, breathing hard. Four things were running through his mind as he slipped into class a second before the bell rang.  
  
One: He’d just given Jamie permission to ask Ned out, with practically a guarantee that he’d accept.  
  
Two: Ned was still hung up on Sally, and would never date Jamie in a million years.  
  
Three: He had eighty minutes to convince Ned to agree to go out with her.  
  
Four:  _WHAT HAD HE BEEN THINKING?!_  
  
Ned waved Patrick into the seat next to him, a large mound of clay that looked vaguely like a teapot. “I’m almost done with it,” he said, patting it fondly.  
  
Patrick peered at it. “Is it supposed to look like it’s been melted?”  
  
“Of course — it’s  _art!”_  
  
Patrick looked at Ned, confused. “What?”  
  
“It’s the ideal excuse. If you can just say something’s art, no one can argue with you, because there is no specific definition for how art is supposed to look! It’s genius!”  
  
“You’re weird.”  
  
Ned grinned. “That’s because I’m an  _artist.”_  
  
Patrick shook his head and set his own art project — a torn-apart armchair with a hand (clutching a remote) sticking up out of the seat — on the table and glanced up at his friend. Ned was cheerfully studying his teapot, making small adjustments to it.  
  
“Hey, Ned,” he began, as casually as he could.  
  
“Hmm?” His friend didn’t look away from his teapot, his brow furrowed in thought.  
  
“What do you think about Jamie Kinsley?”  
  
He set down the pottery knife he’d been using and looked thoughtful. “She’s cute,” he said with a shrug. “A little annoying, but she might be a good match for you.”  
  
“What? No, not for me! I don’t want to go out with . . . ew, no! I mean . . . aw, crap.” He crossed both his hands as though he was praying. “What would you think about dating her?”  
  
Ned just stared at Patrick, his mouth hanging open slightly and his eyes wide. He recovered quickly, though.  _“What?”_  
  
“Well, Jamie  _apparently_  — not that I had anything to do with it, mind you — wants to ask you out, and  _somehow_  she got the idea that you’d say yes.”  
  
To Patrick’s surprise, Ned didn’t look angry or even worried. He nodded slowly, smiling. “So  _that’s_  what she thought was so funny,” he murmured, shaking his head.  
  
Patrick had no idea what to make of this, so he decided to just continue with his plan, as it seemed that Ned wasn’t going to reach across the table and stab him with his pottery knife. “So you’ll say yes?”  
  
“What? Where did  _that_  come from?”  
  
He shrugged. “Wishful thinking?”  
  
“Well, too bad. I’m going to have to say no.”  
  
“Ned, I  _really_  think you should say yes.” As he spoke, Patrick took Ned’s pottery knife and covered it with his arms — just in case.  
  
“And I  _really_  think I shouldn’t.”  
  
“Come on. It’d be good for you.” Patrick leaned forward, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening. “It’ll help you take your mind off of Sally, at least.”  
  
Ned shrugged, blushing. “I don’t know . . .” he began.  
  
“Nuh-uh. You’re doing this.” Patrick took out a paint brush and dipped it in blue. “Just one date — you can survive.”  
  
Ned sighed, taking his knife back and returning his attention to his project. “That’s what you think.”

* * *

Ned had hoped that he wouldn’t have to deal with Jamie until much later (preferably after he’d had time to figure out how to reject her politely). However, she was waiting directly outside his art class when the bell rang, and caught his attention immediately.  
  
“Ned?”  
  
Patrick quickly brushed past him, muttering, “Be nice,” and making his way across the hallway. He began rummaging through his bag, close enough to be in hearing distance, but far enough to look like he wasn't eavesdropping.  
  
With a sigh of defeat, Ned turned to Jamie, who had a nervous smile on her face. “Yeah?” he asked, trying not to sound like he was dreading this.  
  
“I was wondering if you might want to . . . you know, get something to eat . . . sometime. . . .”  
  
The part of him that was still crazy about Sally wanted to shout “No!” and run. However, he knew he’d just feel sick and guilty, and probably end up apologizing later and agreeing to go out with her anyway.  
  
Also, Patrick was still directly across the hall, staring at him with a look that clearly said, “If you say no, I will kill you. And then drag you back here to make you say yes.” So, with a defeated sigh, he decided to put poor, flustered Jamie out of her misery.  
  
“You’re asking me out?”  
  
She flushed. “Yes,” she murmured, staring down at her hands.  
  
“I . . .” Ned could still feel Patrick’s eyes trained on his face, staring daggers at him. “All right. Sure. I’d love to.”  
  
She looked up at him, seemingly incredulous. “Really?” she asked eagerly.  
  
“Yeah. Why not?”  
  
“And it doesn’t have to  _mean_  anything,” she added, pulling a pen out from behind her ear. “It’s just one date — no strings attached.” She began scribbling on a sheet of paper.  
  
 _Thank God._  “Sounds good,” Ned said, taking the paper; it had her name and phone number on it.  
  
They both stood there awkwardly for a few seconds, not sure what to say. Ned’s mind was racing, trying to figure out what to do next. Was he supposed to give her his number? Was he supposed to ask when they could go out? Would it be too rude to just say goodbye and leave?  
  
Patrick was suddenly at his side, a convincingly surprised smile on his face. “Hey, Ned! I was wondering where you’d disappeared to. Oh, hi Jamie,” he added, turning to her. “Am I interrupting something?”  
  
“Not at all,” Ned said. “We were just. . . .”  
  
“Talking,” Jamie finished, grinning slightly.  
  
Patrick shrugged. “All right. Hey, do you have lunch now?” he asked her.  
  
She nodded.  
  
“Do you want to have lunch with us?” he continued, ignoring Ned’s death glare. “I know Ned wanted to ask you himself, but he’s just so shy. Ow!”  
  
Ned had kicked him in the shin.  
  
“That would be great!” Jamie said. “If it’s not too much trouble.”  
  
“No trouble,” Patrick said, because Ned was utterly lost for words. “Come on — let’s go.”

* * *

 _“Please_  tell me you’re joking.”  
  
“I’m dead serious! She came up to me and asked me if it’d be okay to ask Ned out.”  
  
Sarah pulled a plastic fork out of her backpack and scooped out a forkful of noodles. “And would it be okay?”  
  
Sally shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s none of my business, right? Besides, there’s  _no_  way she’s going to ask him out. And there’s no way he’d  _ever_  say yes.”  
  
Sarah’s expression was inscrutable. “Oh, really? Why not?”  
  
Sally laughed. “Come on, Sarah. She’s a bimbo. Ned would never have the patience to date a bimbo.”  
  
Her friend shrugged. “I don’t know, Sal. He might surprise you. By the way, don’t look now, but Ned and Patrick are coming.”  
  
“What? Why can’t I look — Oh my gosh.”  
  
Accompanying them, flushed and nearly giddy, was Jamie. Wide-eyed, Sally turned back around. “How did that happen?” she hissed, torn between amusement, incredulity, and irritation; she hated being proven wrong. She was tempted to go over there and slap Ned silly. How could he date someone so . . .  _ditzy?_  
  
Sarah leaned forward conspiratorially. “I have three theories,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “One: Blackmail. Two: Some sort of hypnotism. Three: The end of the world is upon us, and he wanted to go on at least one date before his untimely death.”  
  
“I like the third one. It’s very creative.”  
  
“Thank you. What do you think?”  
  
“Maybe he’s finally lost it.”  
  
Sarah shrugged. “If he ever  _had_  it. Maybe he was the victim of a lobotomy.”  
  
“Maybe that’s not really him, but an imposter.”  
  
“Maybe he’s an alien!”  
  
“Now  _that’s_  plausible,” Sally agreed, giggling. “But I’m thinking it’s some sort of schoolwide conspiracy.”  
  
“Ooh, that’s good,” she said. “Who’s involved in it?”  
  
“Who’s involved in what?”  
  
Sally and Sarah both jumped, paling. They turned to see Ned, Jamie and Patrick standing over them. “Who’s involved in what?” Ned repeated, when neither girl replied.  
  
Sally found her voice first, relieved that he hadn't heard what they'd been discussing. “A conspiracy,” she explained.  _Please don’t ask why. Please don’t ask why._  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Ah. . . .” She turned to Sarah desperately.  
  
Sarah jumped in immediately. “Today’s just been a weird day, hasn’t it?”  
  
Ned’s smile was a bit strained as he took a seat next to Sally. After a few seconds of uncertain hovering, Jamie sank into the chair on his other side. “Yeah,” he said with a sigh. “I can agree with that.”  
  
A slightly awkward silence fell over the table. Finally Sally couldn’t take it anymore. She leaned behind Ned so that she could talk to Jamie. “Hi,” she said with a friendliness she didn’t feel. “What’s up?”  
  
She gave Sally a quick once-over, bristling. Clearly she hadn’t gotten over Sally’s little laughing fit. “Not much — I’m just having lunch with Ned, since we’re going on a date. You know how it is.” She’d evidently tried to sound casual, but there was tension in her voice and face that gave her away. Besides, she’d been about as subtle as a sledgehammer.  
  
Sally glanced up at Sarah but didn’t say anything. Both were fighting to keep straight faces when they really wanted to laugh, as two things had been made obvious.  
  
One: Ned and Jamie were, apparently, going out. The impossible had happened.  
  
Two: In Jamie’s eyes, she, Sally O’Malley, was a threat. In this battle for Ned’s affections, she was considered the main enemy.  
  
Of course, that was beyond ridiculous. It wasn’t  _her_  fault Ned liked her. . . . If he still did, anyway. If he was agreeing to go on dates with other girls, he couldn’t like her  _that_  much. Which was a relief.  
  
She suddenly realized that she’d completely tuned out the conversation. Luckily, no one had said anything to her. She tried to pay closer attention; Sarah and Patrick were arguing about something or other — when were they not? — and Ned and Jamie were sitting there, mostly silent. Every now and then Ned would say something in response to the bickering and Jamie would laugh.  
  
Sally had never really noticed that Jamie’s laugh was slightly painful to listen to — it was an impressively high pitch.  
  
“Patrick, you’re such a jerk!” Sarah exclaimed, putting her hands on her hips.  
  
Patrick looked confused. “How am I a jerk? What did I do?”  
  
“You were a jerk, apparently,” Ned said mildly. Jamie laughed, making Sally cringe. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ned wince too, almost imperceptibly.  
  
With a smile, Sally turned her gaze back to Sarah and Patrick.  
  
Lunch had, it seemed, gone almost back to normal.

* * *

“Hey, we only have a few minutes before the bell,” Patrick said, glancing down at his watch. He began picking up everyone’s trash. “Come on — don’t want to be late to class.”  
  
“Yeah, don’t want to miss a second of the learning,” Sarah deadpanned, rolling her eyes. Jamie laughed again, and Sally felt like her eardrums were being stabbed with tiny needles. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration.  
  
Sally leaned over towards Sarah. “If she laughs one more time, I’m going to stab myself to death with this fork,” she whispered, holding the plastic fork up.  
  
Sarah looked at her, smirking. “I’ll be sure to come to your funeral.”  
  
“I’m serious! It’s painful!”  
  
“Listen, are you sure you’re not just jealous?”  
  
“I’m  _definitely_  not jealous.”  
  
The bell rang. Sarah shrugged, climbing to her feet. “You just seem to be throwing a lot of jabs at the girl.”  
  
“You mean she doesn’t bother you?” Sally asked incredulously.  
  
“Of course she does. But she’s going out with Ned now —”  
  
“One date does not mean they’re going out.”  
  
“Anyway, we just have to deal with it.” Their eyes met for a second, and Sally looked down. “But you really seem to be a lot more annoyed with her than usual. Are you sure —”  
  
“Yes, I’m sure. I don’t like Ned, okay?”  
  
“Hey, are you two coming?” Patrick called. He, Ned and Jamie were several feet ahead of them.  
  
“We’ll just be a minute!” Sarah yelled back. “Don’t wait up!” When the three had disappeared down the hall, she turned, giving Sally a searching look. “You know he likes —”  
  
“Liked,” she corrected.  
  
 _“Likes,”_  Sarah said firmly. “Trust me, he still likes you. Anyway, you know he does. And you two would fit so well together. Haven’t you ever wondered —”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Why not? I know  _I’d_  wonder, at least a little.”  
  
“I  _can’t_  wonder,” she said firmly. She sighed, making sure no one was listening to them. “Ned and I have been friends for, like, ten years. And what if we were to date or whatever and it didn’t work out? What if our friendship was ruined? So I can’t wonder, because it could mess everything up.”  
  
“You’re right.” Sarah nodded, looking down the crowded hallway. “It could ruin everything.” A few feet away, a girl and a guy were joking around. She shoved him, laughing, and he pulled her into a kiss. “Or it could be absolutely perfect.”

* * *

There is nothing like a relaxing walk home from school. Nothing like beautiful weather, your very best friend, and a life-changing question  _about_  your very best friend to make you want to have a heart attack. Sally looked down at the ground, kicking a pebble; it skittered across the sidewalk and into the grass.  
  
“Everything all right?” Ned asked. “You’ve been kind of quiet.”  
  
Sally looked up. “Huh? Oh, I’m fine. Just . . . thinking.”  
  
He smiled. “Thinking’s good. What are you thinking about?”  
  
“Uh . . . stuff. School stuff. Homework and whatnot.”  
  
He nodded — he probably knew she was lying. “I’ll leave you be, then?”  
  
“Actually, that’d be great.” She suddenly realized how that sounded. “I mean, not that I don’t want to talk to you, it’s just that my brain’s sort of full at the moment, and —”  
  
He held up a hand, chuckling. “Relax. I understand.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and continued walking, looking up at the sky. The silence was friendly and comfortable, and Sally was relieved for it. She could  _think._  
  
She really wished Sarah hadn’t said anything. Sally had been handling the news that Ned liked her very well; she’d avoided talking or thinking about it, and she refused to consider what it would be like if she actually liked him back. It wasn’t always easy not to think about those kinds of things, but it worked for her. It was safe.  
  
And now Sarah had opened a door, and she couldn’t help but wonder. What it would have been like if, when Ned had said he liked her, she’d responded, “I like you, too.” What it would have been like if he hadn’t agreed to go out with Jamie.  
  
It was stupid. Things had already happened the way they had, and Sally couldn’t change it. She didn’t even think she  _wanted_  to change it. It really wasn’t worth the risk. Why would she endanger what she had just for a “what if?”  
  
She glanced over at Ned, who grinned at her. Her eyes quickly flicked back down to her feet. Noticing that he had a cute smile would do  _nothing_  for her sanity or their friendship.  
  
However, three things popped, unbidden, into her mind.  
  
One: Sarah could be totally wrong.  
  
Two: Sarah could be totally right.  
  
Three: She had no idea which of these she wanted.


	8. Stupid and Nuts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned's first date with Jamie doesn't go very well.

**Stupid and Nuts**  
  
_Beep!_  “Hi, Ned, it’s Jamie. Jamie Kinsley. You know — yeah.” There was a nervous giggle. “I-I got this number from the phone book. Um, anyway, I was wondering if you were free. Tonight. So we could go out or something.” There was a long pause. “I guess you’re not home.” Another pause. “Okay, then. Call me. Bye. . . . Oh! Do you have my phone number? It’s 346-2781.” Another pause. “Bye.”  _Beep!_  
  
Ned stared at the answering machine for a minute before lifting his eyes to Patrick. His friend was watching him with an unquestionably exasperated expression. “Let me get this straight,” he began slowly. “You were home, in your room, when Jamie called. Instead of being nice and answering the phone, you let it ring, and made her leave a kind of embarrassing message  _while you were listening._  And then you called me over so that  _I_  could listen to it?”  
  
“I wasn’t  _trying_  to be mean!” Ned said defensively. “I just . . . wasn’t ready to talk to her yet.” In fact, he’d been dodging her calls for a few days now, because whenever he and Jamie talked on the phone, it was painfully awkward, and he felt much better just avoiding the entire process. But the way Patrick said it . . . it made him sound like a total jerk.  
  
Patrick sighed. “Ned, it’s been a week and you haven’t gone on a date with the girl. When are you actually going to do it?”  
  
“Soon!” Patrick continued to stare at him. “Tonight, in fact. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to call her right now.” He picked up the phone smugly, then stared at it. Now he had to . . . call her. He swallowed hard and dialed, listening to the phone ring and hoping she wouldn’t answer.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
_Crap!_  “Jamie, hi. It’s Ned.”  
  
“Hey. What’s up?”  
  
What  _was_  up?  _Why_  did he call? “Just returning your message . . .”  
  
“So, are you free?”  
  
Ned cringed and looked up at Patrick, who was listening from the other house phone, the hypocrite. Patrick nodded furiously.  
  
“Yeah. Free as a bird.” Because  _that_  didn’t sound beyond stupid.  
  
“Great! I was thinking that we could have dinner somewhere — maybe that new pizzeria near the school — and maybe see a movie. . . .”  
  
“Sure. Sounds good.” Patrick rolled his eyes and mouthed, “Show some enthusiasm!”  
  
“Okay! Hmm . . .” She hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with asking something. “So, I’ll meet you at the restaurant?”  
  
“Yep. See you then.” There was an awkward silence that seemed to stretch over hours.  
  
“So, what did you do today?” Her voice was very soft.  
  
“Nothing much.” Across the room, Patrick slapped his forehead, and Ned pulled the receiver away from his face, hissing, “Well, not much did! What, should I make something up?”  
  
“Tell her what happened!” Patrick shot back, yanking the phone away from him as well.  
  
“But it’s boring!”  
  
“So? You just have to talk!”  
  
Ned sighed and returned his attention back to Jamie. “Sorry, I had a little . . . trouble.”  
  
“That’s okay.” Another awkward pause.  
  
“How was your day?” Ned honestly couldn’t care less, but he had to say  _something._  
  
“Well, my day was pretty boring. . . .” She continued talking, her voice growing more animated all the while.  
  
Ned had no idea what she was talking about; he just kept saying, “Uh-huh,” and “That’s cool” whenever the occasion arose. He was too busy glaring at Patrick, who was making stupid faces at Ned — apparently mimicking his own expression. Finally it got irritating enough that he was tempted to hurl the phone across the room at Patrick, thus killing two birds with one stone . . . or phone. He chuckled to himself, realizing that it definitely killed the mood of whatever Jamie was talking about.  
  
“It wasn’t funny!” she said, sounding scandalized. “She completely insulted me!”  
  
“I-I’m sorry!” he stammered, blushing. Patrick rolled his eyes and mouthed, “Smooth” across the room.  
  
Suddenly his bedroom door flung open and one of his sisters stuck her head in. “NED, GET OFF THE STUPID PHONE!” she screamed, despite the fact that they were now in the same room and Ned had excellent hearing (he knew, because he’d gone to see a doctor when he was afraid he was going to go deaf. It was a long story).  
  
Feeling extremely relieved as he turned his attention back to the phone. “Listen, Jamie, I’m really sorry, but I have to —”  
  
“Go,” Jamie finished. “Was that your sister?”  
  
“One of them.”  
  
“You have more than —”  
  
“I really have to get off.”  
  
“Oh. Okay.”  
  
“See you tonight.”  
  
“Yep. . . .”  
  
Knowing that he’d probably done something less-than-genius, he set the phone back in its cradle. “Tonight’s going to be a disaster, isn’t it?”  
  
Patrick nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. Probably.”

* * *

Sally glanced up at the McDodd home. It was a tall, spindly, and erratic building, with rooms sticking out of it at weird angles, as if they’d been added as afterthoughts. She rang the doorbell and leaned back, hooking her hands behind her head; it always took forever for anyone to come to the door. It was strange, since their family was so big, but she had accepted it as one of the many oddities of the world that would never be explained.  
  
Finally the door opened and Sally was hit with a wave of noise. A hand took hers and yanked her inside, slamming the door shut behind her.  
  
“Hey, Sal!” Someone shouted in her ear, dropping her hand. She turned to see Mimi McDodd, Ned’s twin (but four-and-half minutes younger) sister, grinning at her with her brother’s gap-toothed smile. She held a brush in one hand and a walkie-talkie in the other. “It’s Sally,” she said into the latter. “Can I bring her up? Over.” There was a long pause as she listened to her correspondent impatiently. “Yes, I’ll get the chips,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But you know he can’t eat anything! Over.” She pressed a button on the walkie-talkie and dropped it into her purse. “Come on,” she said, taking Sally’s hand again and leading her to the kitchen. “Ned’s in his room, but we need to grab the girls some chips first.”  
  
“What’s going on?” Sally asked, glancing up the stairs, where most of the noise was coming from.  
  
Mimi didn’t seem to hear her, though, as she rummaged through the cabinets, eventually emerging with a bag of potato chips.  
  
As they hurried upstairs, Sally noticed that most of Ned’s brothers were downstairs. Probably trying to avoid . . . whatever was going on, Sally figured, as she and Mimi made it to the end of the hallway. “Brace yourself,” Mimi whispered with a wink before throwing open Ned’s bedroom door.  
  
For a moment, Sally was absolutely confused. The room was filled with girls — most of Ned’s sisters, it seemed like, all of them giggling, shouting or waving various care-products. Clothes were strewn over every available surface, and a fog of hairspray and . . . was that  _perfume?_  — hung thick in the air.  
  
There was no way this was Ned’s room. She started to back out, wondering if maybe he’d switched rooms with his sisters, when Mimi began fighting her way through the crowd, dragging Sally behind like a ragdoll. She clung to the Who’s hand, unable to see over the crowd of girls and just hoping she’d make it to her destination alive.  
  
When she was aware that the people around her had disappeared, she cracked one eye open and took a hurried glance around.  
  
Then she opened the other eye and stared at what was in the corner of her friend’s room.  
  
Ned was crouching on the bed, his arms thrown up in a defensive position in an apparent attempt to stop this attack of cosmetics, but it didn’t seem he’d been able to hold his own against his sisters. One of his arms was in one shirt, the other was in a different shirt entirely, and he had a third pulled over his head. Three girls were each trying to make sure  _their_  shirt was the one he wore, and were having a gruesome fight over it; one of them — a little pink Who taller than Sally — held a pair of glasses over the second, who was reaching up with one arm to get them back, but with the other arm was yanking at the third one’s fur. While this was going on, a Who that couldn’t have been out of kindergarten was trying to help, and was combing the fur nearest her — Ned's foot. As Sally watched, this little girl’s sister came toddling up and yanked the comb out of her hands. This unsurprisingly led to another brawl, only adding to the chaos piled around her poor friend, who was certainly receiving the worst of it. Every once in a while he’d be hit by a stray foot, fist or hairspray bottle.  
  
Mimi sighed and shook her head, her hundreds of tiny braids smacking her in the face. “My sisters,” she muttered, and stormed over to the counter, where she snatched up a spray bottle of water. Turning to the fights, she unleashed it, dousing everyone with cold water.  
  
The three girls fighting over the shirts leapt out of the way, screaming and trying to protect their clothes. The two youngest, however, didn’t appear to notice, as they were having a fierce tug-of-war over Ned’s foot, wailing loudly. Mimi picked them each up by the scruffs of their necks, holding them far enough away that they couldn’t inflict any damage. “That’s  _enough,_  Trisha, Katy!” she said reprovingly, shaking them slightly for emphasis. “I’m not letting you down until you promise to stop!”  
  
The both looked at each other, then up at their sister. “I promise,” they mumbled in unison. Satisfied, Mimi set them down, turning to the rest of the room. They fell silent, staring warily at the half-filled spray bottle still in her hand.  
  
“All right!” she said authoritatively. “We’ve helped Ned out quite a bit, and I’m sure he’s very grateful” — she looked over at him, and he nodded meekly, though with the shirt over his head Sally wondered how he could sense the warning glare his twin was sending him — “and Sally’s going to take it from here.”  
  
Sally, suddenly the victim of the warning glare, quickly agreed without knowing what she was agreeing to.  
  
“But she’s never been on a date in her life!” Hannah said, putting her hands on her hips. Sally blushed; she knew that Hannah, only a year and a half younger than her, had been on more dates than everyone else in the Mcdodd home, while Sally had, in fact, never had one, but did she really have to be _reminded_  of that?  
  
“That’s not true,” Mimi said, in response to both Hannah’s statement and the titters that traveled around the room. She turned to Sally with raised eyebrows. “Is it?”  
  
“Of course it isn’t,” she lied, meeting Hannah’s gaze. “I’ve been on plenty.” Hannah smirked, but didn’t say anything.  
  
“See? Now, go watch some movies or something. Sally has work to do.” As the others all filed out of the room, Mimi gave her one last encouraging smile before pulling the door shut.  
  
Once the room was empty, Sally sighed in relief, and hurried over to where Ned still sat, unmoving. “They’re gone,” she whispered. “You can come out now.”  
  
Apparently oblivious to her teasing, Ned mumbled, “No I can’t.”  
  
“Sure you can. And you should; if you wear those wet shirts for too long, you’ll catch a cold.”  
  
“No, I mean I  _can’t_  get out. I’m stuck. I think my hair’s caught on a button or something.”  
  
She coughed to cover a laugh, and gently tugged on the shirt over his head. “This the one?” she asked.  
  
“Yep.”  
  
She gently weaved her fingers through the fur, tugging on the fuzzy fabric here and there. “Man, it’s really stuck," she muttered, trying to loosen the hair tangled around a button. She thought she’d gotten it fixed, and yanked at the shirt. Ned yelped and gasped, bringing his hand to his head. “Sorry,” she said. “I think I’ve got this time. Just a second . . . there!” She handed the shirt to Ned, who took it with a sheepish smile.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“No problem.’ She took the shirts from him and stepped over to the closet, hanging them up to dry. “So, what’s all the commotion?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him and grinning. “Hot date?”  
  
“Uh — yeah, I guess, sort of,” he replied, struggling to flatten his hair again. “I’m taking Jamie over to . . . a pizza place. Damn, I don’t remember what it’s called. That’s not good. . . . And I still have to get ready. Crap, crap. I don’t have time, I —”  
  
Sally held up her hand, stopping him from getting up off the bed and racing around in a panic. “Sure you do. I’m here, aren’t I? I’ll help.” She looked over at the closet and pulled out a light blue shirt. “Try this on.”

* * *

Finally it was time for Ned to go, and Sally stepped back, looked him up and down, and nodded. “Perfect!”  
  
“Really? I feel kind of . . . stupid.”  
  
“You look kind of stupid,” Ryan, one of Ned’s younger brothers, said as he came up the stairs.  
  
“Shut up,” Sally shot back. “You look fine, Ned. Seriously, would I let you go out looking like an idiot?”  
  
“I-I’m not sure how to answer that.”  
  
She laughed, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. “No, I wouldn’t. So get out there and have a good time, all right?”  
  
He looked unsure. “I’ll try. . . .” he mumbled, giving her a sideways glance he probably didn’t think she’d notice. It was a look that made her a little uncomfortable, and a little — stupid,  _stupid_  Sarah, making her feel all weird around her best friend — excited. The silence grew awkward, and Sally blinked, reminding herself exactly who Ned was going on a date with.  
  
“See you; good luck on your date,” she said, and left as quickly as possible without looking like the coward she was.  
  
Once she was outside, and the warm summer air hit her face, she immediately felt calmer. And more like an idiot.  
  
Why would she let herself think that she liked him, even a little? She’d known him for way too long — she’d peed in his pool before! She couldn’t possibly have a romantic relationship with someone like that. He was practically her  _brother._  It would definitely be the creepiest thing in existence.  
  
Besides, he was dating Jamie. In fact, he was probably already on his way to her house now, getting ready to eat pizza. While she’d . . . be at home, eating crackers and reading some dumb teen novel. She felt jealousy twist her stomach into a knot, and that somehow made her feel better.  
  
She was just jealous because Ned was moving along faster than she was, which she’d never expected in all their years of friendship. She wasn’t jealous of Jamie, not at all.  
  
Because that would be very  _stupid._  
  
Sally opened the door to her home and slipped inside. She went into the kitchen and pulled out a box of cereal, taking a handful absently. She glanced down at the box, tempted to put it back and eat something healthy.  
  
She shrugged, popped another handful of sugary cereal into her mouth and climbed the stairs to her bedroom with the box under one arm.  
  
Her sisters, Natalie and Nicole, were already there, throwing stuffed animals at each other and giggling. Sally turned to them, in no mood for noise or happiness of any kind.  
  
“Out.”  
  
“But it’s our room, too!”  
  
“I don’t care. Out,  _now.”_  
  
“MOM!”  
  
Their mother came racing up the stairs. “What?”  
  
“Sally’s making us leave, and she can’t!”  
  
Their mother looked from Sally’s box of cereal and the expression on her face, and she turned to the girls with a smile. “Sal has to . . . take a nap, sweetie,” she said to Natalie, leading both of her sisters out of the room. “Why don’t you watch some TV?”  
  
Sally smiled gratefully, and flopped onto the bed as the door closed. She stared up at the ceiling, thinking about how Jamie and Ned were probably at the pizzeria by now, talking about . . . what? How Jamie’s cat sneezed at her and it ruined her life? Surely not about everything they’d talked about this afternoon getting him ready for his date. Surely Jamie didn’t have the mental capacity to talk about anything other than herself.  
  
_You’re not being fair to her,_  Sally’s conscience whispered, sounding weirdly like a combination between Sarah and her own mother. Jamie, from what she’d observed, really wasn’t all that self-centered; she was just overdramatic, and took every minor event to be a huge tragedy. But she did seem pretty sweet, and Sally was sure that Jamie might actually be a good match for Ned, because she was sympathetic to  _everything._  
  
She sighed and tossed a flake of cereal to her cat, who was nudging at her hand for some food. She scratched him behind the ears, thinking about her friend.  
  
Yeah, he might end up really liking Jamie. They might be able to get along. Sally picked up her cat and placed him on her chest, where he settled down, purring.  
  
And she wasn’t jealous about that . . . at all.

* * *

“So, what movie do you want to see?” Jamie asked, dipping her pizza crust into the leftover sauce on her plate. “Any preferences?”  
  
Ned looked up, startled. He’d remembered them discussing a movie, but he’d forgotten. Wasn’t dinner enough for one night? “Uh . . . well, I don’t know. Maybe we shouldn’t see one, since it’s our first date and all.” Oh man, he hadn’t meant to say that. At least, not exactly  _like_  that.  
  
Jamie was clearly taken aback, but she recovered quickly, though still blushing a bit. “Right. Sorry.” She blinked back embarrassed tears, and Ned berated himself for being so rude. It wouldn’t have killed him to sit through a movie, would it?  
  
But now it was too late; anything he said now would just feel . . . fake. It was better not to say anything.  
  
Jamie kept her eyes fixed on her napkin, which she was twisting around and around in her hands. He picked up a bottle cap from his soda and spun it around on the table, waiting for Jamie to speak, or for a meteor to hit them, or  _something._  
  
The silence was now reaching epic proportions, and it took Ned everything he had to keep from saying something lame. He spun the bottle cap faster, and it went flying over to another table, where it skidded across the tabletop and landed in someone’s pizza. He looked down quickly, but with nothing to distract him, he was again thinking of how uncomfortable the date had become.  
  
_Don’t say anything lame. Don’t say anything lame. Don’t —_  
  
“You know, maybe we  _can_  go see a movie. I mean, why not live on the edge?”  
  
That could not have been lamer. If there was an award for the lamest thing ever said, ever, he would win it, no contest. And judging from the incredulous way Jamie was looking at him, she would personally hand him the trophy.  
  
“No. That’s okay.” She bit her lip, then blurted out, “Ned, do you like me?”  
  
Ned had no idea how to answer that. How could he answer that? “I . . . I guess, yeah.” He did, too; she was nice, she was cute, and she could be pretty funny when she wasn’t overreacting (and often when she  _was,_  though that was unintentional).  
  
“Do you like me as much as Sally?”  
  
“Well, Sal’s my best friend.”  
  
She frowned. “I don’t mean like that.”  
  
He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I know.”  
  
“Do you still like her . . . the way I like you?”  
  
“Of course not!” He was so used to denying this to Sally and his friends at school that the lie slipped out of his mouth naturally. Jamie clearly didn’t buy it, though, and after a moment he said, “Yeah. I think I do.”  
  
She didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Then I guess we’re done, huh?” She was much calmer and quieter than he’d expected — if anything called for over-exaggerating, this was it.  
  
“I guess so.” They both stood up, and he placed some money on the table. “This was a nice date, though.”  
  
She nodded. “Bye.” She brushed past him, walking quickly out of the restaurant. He waited until she was out of sight before leaving. The bottle cap he’d lost hit him in the back of the head on the way out.  
  
Ned shook his head and looked up at the sky; he wasn’t looking forward to explaining to Patrick how he’d managed to ruin the only date he’d ever had. And to Sarah . . . and Sally.  
  
_Sally._  
  
“Ned?” Suddenly she was standing in front of him, her hands on her hips. “What are you still doing here?” She glanced over his shoulder, and her expression grew sympathetic. “Where’s Jamie?”  
  
“Gone. She . . . left.”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
He shrugged. “Nah, don’t be. I’m okay with it, really.”  
  
She put her hands on her hips, looking him up and down. Suddenly she took his hand and tugged him down the street, away from his house. “Come on,” she said over her shoulder without slowing down. “The night isn’t over yet, is it?”

* * *

“So it’s all over, then?” Sally asked, sitting on her rock with her back against a tree. “You and her?”  
  
He shrugged. “Looks like it.” They were in the middle of Who Park, a large green area at the center of Whoville, complete with playgrounds, picnic tables, and every sports field anyone could want. Sally and Ned were on the very fringe of the park, watching several kids their age playing Whosketball on a nearby court.  
  
“Are you okay?” Even in the dim light from the lampposts placed around the park, Ned could tell that she was giving him a worried look. “I mean . . . what happened?”  
  
“I told her I didn’t like her like that.”  
  
Sally whistled softly, looking up at the stars. “That might not have been the best time to reveal that.”  
  
“I guess not.”  
  
“Any reason why?”  
  
“Why? I just . . . she’s not my type.” No way was he going to tell her the real reason.  
  
“That’s a shame,” she said, then shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. She cocked her head to the side and looked at him curiously. “Why, though? I mean . . . what’s wrong with her?”  
  
“Nothing! She’s just not my type! Can’t someone just not be your type?”  
  
“I guess. . . .” She was still studying him, though, and it made him nervous. He cleared his throat and added, “And, you know, she’s not . . . the smartest person out there.”  
  
It was true, and it did annoy him a little. And it was a good excuse — Sally of all people understood how important intelligence was.  
  
Sally’s eyebrows shot up, disappearing under her bangs. “Are you being a snob?” she asked.  
  
“What? No!” So much for thinking she understood.  
  
“I can’t believe it. Ned Mcdodd, a snob.” She was grinning, and he knew that she was only teasing, but it still bothered him. “You’re not going to start getting snobby about other things, are you? I mean, does it start with intelligence and then move on to money and looks, until soon you’re a super snob?”  
  
“I’m not a snob!” he said, scrambling to his feet. He was getting way too worked up about this, but his night had sucked, and now Sally — his  _best friend —_ was calling him a jerk, just because he didn’t like Jamie, someone he knew she couldn’t stand. Talk about being hypocritical. “And I’ll prove it!”  
  
Her eyes were a little wide, but the grin didn’t fade. “How?”  
  
“I’ll . . . I’ll call Jamie back!” He crossed his arms and leaned back. How could she call him a snob after  _that,_  huh?  
  
The smile slid off her face as she realized he was serious. “You’re . . . going to call her again?” she asked hoarsely.  
  
He nodded, squaring his jaw.  
  
“But I thought you said you didn’t like her. I thought you  _told_  her you didn’t like her.”  
  
“Well, I’ll tell her I’ve decided to give her another chance. Everyone deserves another chance, right?”  
  
She glanced down at the ground, twisting her hands around one another. “I suppose,” she murmured, but it didn't seem like she was thinking about Jamie. He didn't know what she was thinking about, but in that moment, she seemed miles away.  
  
“In fact, I’ll call her when I get home.” He plopped back on the ground and gave her a “So there” look, which went totally to waste because she wasn’t even looking at him.  
  
“Okay.” She finally did meet his gaze then, and gave him a small, fake-looking smile. “If that’s what you really want.”

* * *

Ned sat down on his bed later that evening, staring down at the bright red phone in his hand. He sighed and tossed it onto the floor, lying back and flinging an arm over his eyes.  
  
Damn. Why did he open his stupid mouth and say he’d call Jamie back? He still didn’t like her. He still liked Sally. And now he’d have to pretend to like poor Jamie, when it would never work out.  
  
He  _was_  a jerk. Sally had been right. Maybe he wasn’t a snob, but he was an idiot and a jerk.  
  
But he’d said he would, and Sally was expecting him to.  
  
He sat up with a groan and picked up the telephone, dialing Jamie’s number before he could convince himself not to.  
  
“Hello?” Jamie’s voice sounded thick, like she had a bad cold.  
  
“Jamie? It’s Ned.”  
  
There was silence on her end of the phone for a long time. “What is it? Do I owe you money for dinner?”  
  
“No! Of course not. I’d never . . . Listen. I want you to give me another chance.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because I think . . . well, I think I spoke a little hastily before. I think we ought to try one more time.”  
  
“I don’t know. . . .”  
  
“Please. Just one date. And you can choose when and where. I’ll even pick you up.”  
  
She took a shaky breath. “O-okay. I guess one more date couldn’t hurt.”  
  
“Thank you, Jamie! You won’t regret it, I promise!” And he meant it — even though he didn’t think he’d enjoy it for a second, he was going to make sure she did. He owed that much to her, at least.  
  
And maybe he’d have fun, too. Maybe.  
  
“How about tomorrow, around three o’clock?”  
  
“I’ll see you then. Bye.” He hung up, and immediately dialed Sally’s number, barely even looking at the keys.  
  
“Hi! This is the O’Malleys.”  
  
“Sal?”  
  
“Hey, Ned.” The chipperness was gone from her voice almost instantly, though she faked it pretty well. “What’s up?”  
  
“I did it.”  
  
“You . . . you did?”  
  
He nodded, though she couldn’t see him. “Yep, and we’re going out again tomorrow.”  
  
“Wow! That’s . . . great. I’m happy for you.”  
  
“Yeah. It is.”  
  
“So where are you going?”  
  
“I don’t know; she didn’t say.”  
  
“Ah. Well, I hope you have fun.”  
  
“Thanks.” There was an awkward silence, where both of them waited for the other to speak.  
  
“I should get going,” Sally said eventually.  
  
“Oh, yeah, me too.”  
  
“Bye.”  
  
“See you.”  
  
He hung up, feeling a little sick. There was something up with Sally, and he didn’t know what it was. He didn’t know what to do about it, either.  
  
Maybe she was just hormonal. That had to be it. Some weird girl thing . . . maybe it was the full moon turning girls into moody, confusing wolves. Were all girls werewhos, perhaps?  
  
Then again, she wasn’t the only one feeling less than perfect. Maybe he was one, too. That would explain the pressure in his chest and the knot in his stomach. Maybe he  _was_  turning into a werewho.  
  
He stood up and looked at the mirror on the floor. One of his sisters had brought it in and forgot to take it back again.  
  
He didn’t have any more fur than usual or claws growing out of his fingers. He pulled back his lips; no fangs sticking out of his mouth, either.  
  
Ned went back to his bed and opened up the window above it. The moon was hanging, large and full, over the park. He tilted his head back and howled.  
  
“I AM A WEREWHO!” he shouted, feeling some of the pressure in his chest ebb. There was something therapeutic about screaming out into the night, when no one was on the streets. “I AM A WEREWHO!”  
  
The door opened behind him, and he turned to see his mother standing in the doorway with a glass of water in one hand.  
  
“I thought you’d like something to drink,” she said with a smile.  
  
He nodded, blushing, and she handed him the glass. “Thanks,” he said, closing the window hastily.  
  
His mother shook her head and laughed. “You’re not a werewho, you know,” she said with a wink. “Just a teenager. If that makes you feel any better. Goodnight, honey.”  
  
“Right,” he mumbled, embarrassed. She ruffled his hair and left. Once she was gone, he opened the window again.  
  
“I AM A TEENAGER!” he yelled as loud as he could.  
  
“SO AM I!” someone else replied, making him jump. It seemed to be coming from a few houses down, but he didn’t recognize the voice.  
  
“HEY, ME TOO!”  
  
Suddenly there was a chorus of voices, screaming and howling into the night. They all seemed intent on being the loudest, and the sound was deafening. Ned couldn’t help but laugh at what he’d caused. Then he wondered if Sally could hear it.  
  
Eventually someone told them to shut up, and Ned finally closed his window and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugs to jstewartsintern (jstewartsintern.deviantart.com/) and blucille (blucille.deviantart.com/) for the idea of werewhos. Where would we be without them?


	9. Things Said and Left Unspoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, she had to stop lying to herself sometime.

**Things Said and Left Unspoken**

Sally's mom waited patiently by the foot of the stairs, a laundry basket balanced on one hip and a pile of bagged lunches on a nearby end-table. Glancing up at the clock between folding, she shouted up the time to her children, who were getting ready frantically.

"Seven-oh-nine!" she called, setting a pair of pants on the table.

"Oh,  _crap!"_ Paul, her youngest son, said, hurrying down the stairs.

"Hey, watch your language." Mrs. O'Malley waited until Paul apologized, scuffing his heel on the floor and looking embarrassed, before she handed him his lunch and kissed him on the cheek. He wiped it off absently, looking up the stairs.

"We're gonna be late, Ron!"

"I'm coming! Jeez, calm down! You can walk by yourself, can'tya?" His older brother came down, making an effort to be nonchalant. "See you, Mom," he said, taking his lunch and accepting her kiss with a grimace. "Come on," he added to Paul. "Don't wanna be late, do we?"

Veronica, the oldest daughter on the cusp of graduation, sailed down the stairs with a brush in one hand and a hair scrunchie in her mouth. "Ta, mother," she said around the elastic - ever since she'd turned eighteen, Veronica had some strange ideas of what  _adulthood_  meant, and tended to use strange phrases that sounded vaguely "posh" - taking the hair tie out of her mouth and blowing her a kiss. "I'll catch something to eat with Mara, shall I?"

"Of course, honey." Her mother hadn't bothered to make her a lunch, anyway; apparently bagged lunches were "kid stuff."

Tossing a pair of ratty underpants in the trash, she glanced up at the clock, and then over at the one lunch still on the table. Nicole and Natalie had the day off, she remembered, so they wouldn't be up for another hour. But Sally. . . .

"Sal?"

There was no reply from upstairs.  _"Sally?"_

Nothing. She sighed, looked at the clock again - it was seven-thirteen - and climbed the stairs. Unfortunately, she'd have to wake Sally's sisters as well. She tapped on the door with the tips of her fingers. "Sal?"

When there was still no reply, she opened the door.

Nicole and Natalie's beds were still, with raised lumps where they slept, unbothered. Sally's, however, was a mess, with sheets strewn crookedly over each side. Two feet stuck out one end, and a pile of red hair at the other. Her mother sat down, taking care not to land on her daughter. She put one hand on the pile of red hair. "Sally, dear?"

"Mhmm?"

"It's time for school."

Sally lifted her head, brushing her tangled hair out of her face and blinking. She yawned and stretched, wincing as her back cracked. Rolling her shoulders to get the feeling back into them, she focused half-aware eyes on her mother. "What time is it?"

"Around seven-fifteen."

"Oh." She rubbed at her eyes and looked out the window. "Can't I stay home?"

"With final exams just a few weeks away?"

"Oh." She scowled. "Right."

Her mom's eyes narrowed, and she studied Sally carefully. Though she didn't  _look_  any different, gazing bleary-eyed at the opposite wall, she didn't seem quite . . . right. Normally Sally would have been eager to get to school, even though she didn't like it very much. She would have wanted to see her friends.

"Sal, are you all right?"

"Huh? Of course I am. I'm great." She smiled and climbed out of bed. "I just don't want to go to Whostory, that's all." She stumbled over to her dresser, limping because her leg had fallen asleep.

Her mother hesitated for a few moments more, then shook her head and stood. "I have to get ready for work, honey. Your lunch is downstairs. Now, Ron said he'd do laundry today, but you know how he procrastinates. Make sure he does it, will you?"

"Okay."

"What time are Ned and his . . . friend showing up?"

"Jamie? Oh, they'll be here any minute." Still, she didn't seem inclined to hurry. She knelt in front of the dresser with her hands on her thighs, staring idly into the bottom drawer. She looked distracted, her eyes unfocused.

Very . . . un-Sally. Her mother opened her mouth to again ask what was wrong - not that she thought she would get a satisfactory answer - but the doorbell rang.

Sally leapt to her feet like the floor had bitten her. "Shi - I mean, shoot." She paused to grin sheepishly, then flew across the room to her closet. "It must have been later than I thought." She hesitated, one leg through her skirt and her nightgown pulled up around her neck. "Can you tell them I'm coming? Five minutes or less?"

She blinked, surprised at the sudden return to what she considered "normal Sally." "O-Of course." Mrs. O'Malley went downstairs and opened the door. "Sorry, kids. Sally's running a little late."

"That's fine," the blue-furred girl (who she could never remember the name of) said with a smile. "We don't mind waiting."

"Is she okay?" Ned asked, leaning forward anxiously. "I mean, she's not sick or anything, right?"

"No, she's not sick. She's just . . ." Mrs. O'Malley glanced over her shoulder to make sure her daughter wasn't coming downstairs, then dropped her voice. "Have either of you noticed anything . . . off about her?" They stared at her blankly, and she added, "Does she seem distracted at all? Or . . . depressed?" She stumbled over the last word.

"I haven't noticed anything," Jamie said with a shrug. "She  _seems_  pretty happy. Kind of quiet, but I thought she was always like that."

Ned shook his head. "School's been pretty rough, what with finals coming up and all. Maybe she's just stressed."

Mrs. O'Malley was about to add that Sally had had several years of finals and been just fine, and her preferred method of coping with stress was yelling at everyone and everything (inanimate objects especially), when she noticed Ned's expression. He was staring at a spot just above her left shoulder with narrowed eyes, biting at his bottom lip.

He knew what she was talking about.

"It must be my imagination, I guess. Mothers have to worry, or we'd have nothing else to do but work and sleep." She smiled at them both.

"I know exactly what you mean! Like, one time my mom got all upset because I'd been out until like ten o'clock and yelled at me for  _hours,_  and didn't even realize that my sister wasn't home because she was out with her boyfriend! Sometimes I think -"

Several thuds interrupted Jamie, and Sally leapt past her mother in a red blur, somehow managing to grab her lunch and her bag, kiss Mrs. O'Malley on the cheek, and cram half of a granola bar into her mouth in the space of two-and-a-half seconds. "Bye Mom love you c'mon guys we're late!" With that, she went sprinting down the street.

Jamie giggled. "She looks okay to me," she said.

"Yeah." Ned didn't sound convinced, though, and he took off after her, dropping Jamie's hand to do so. "Sal! Come back! We're not that late!  _Sal!"_

Jamie sighed as they rounded the corner, settling into a slow walk without even thinking about trying to catch up. Ned would come back . . . most likely. Otherwise he'd be facing a very serious silent treatment that would probably last all the way until lunch.

Unless, of course, he apologized. And bought her a cookie. While she was waiting, she watched a pretty blonde Who jog past, her body the kind that a sixteen-year-old girl could never even dream of having. She sighed wistfully as the girl bounced away. Some people were so perfect . . .

Ned  _did_  return in a few seconds, leading Sally by the wrist. He had a fresh scrape on his cheek. "I tripped," he grumbled.

"Poor thing. Want me to kiss it better?" Jamie leaned forward, but he pulled back.

"No! Ow." He winced. "That would hurt."

Jamie was surprised, but she smiled. A month or so ago she would have been unspeakably wounded - not to mention offended - and  _that_  would have been enough to earn Ned a silent treatment of the most severe sort, but after about twelve of these silent treatments (all taking place within the first week of them steadily dating), she'd realized that there was no point. Ned would always say things without thinking, and he didn't mean it in a bad way.

She was becoming quite the grown-up, if she did say so herself. She kissed him on the nose instead. He smiled and slipped his hand into hers casually with only the lightest blush. He'd grown up a bit, too. He wasn't nearly as awkward around her as he'd used to be, and he seemed to handle being with Sally, too. Jamie sometimes wondered if he still liked her, but pushed that thought away before it became too upsetting.

At that moment, though, it wasn't very easy to push away, because Ned's other hand was still around Sally's wrist. In fact, it had slipped down her wrist and was almost holding hers.

 _Let go of her hand,_  she thought, jutting her jaw out ever so slightly. When her telepathic messages didn't seem to be doing anything, she cleared her throat and said, "Ned, let Sally go. You don't have to hold her prisoner - I'm pretty sure she's not bolting." She couldn't bring herself to call Sally "Sal," even though the three of them had been spending pretty much nonstop time together for about three weeks. She didn't really know why; she just couldn't.

That caused Ned to  _really_  blush, and he dropped Sally's hand quickly, almost shoving her away. "Sorry," he mumbled to no one in particular.

"That's okay," Sally and Jamie said in unison. They looked at each other for a moment before Sally dropped her eyes, her cheeks flushing as well.

"Oops. I thought he was talking to me," she said, and Jamie realized that Sally's mom was right; she  _had_  been acting strangely. Meeker, and a little shamefaced. Jamie didn't like it.

"Oh, don't worry about it. He probably was."  _He usually is._

Silence fell over them again, as it usually seemed to whenever the three of them were alone together. It didn't feel companionable then - if it ever did. Jamie watched them carefully, feeling the little furs on her arms stand on end.

Sally and Ned looked up from the sidewalk at the same time, meeting each other's gaze. They smiled briefly and looked away again, making soft noises in the backs of their throats in perfect chorus. It was like they'd rehearsed it.

Jamie drew closer to Ned, squeezing his hand and never letting her eyes stray from Sally. She was watching them curiously, almost - was it just her imagination? - enviously.

 _Don't even think about it, you bitch,_ she thought, not even registering the profanity that slipped through her mental filter for the first time in years.  _He's mine. You gave him up, you hear? You didn't want him._

And she was certainly not going to be changing her mind now.

* * *

Sarah sighed, taking a chunk of hair in her hand and holding it in front of her face. "Why is my fur so frizzy all the time?" she asked, letting the hair drop from her fingers and gazing at her arms. "It's all over the place. It's disgusting."

Patrick looked up from the book he was reading.  _"I_  don't think you look disgusting," he said, looking puzzled. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm just realizing that I shouldn't be allowed outside without a paper bag over my head.  _Ugh!"_

Patrick, deciding that this was obviously something girly he couldn't begin to understand (and that to try would be to risk extreme torment), returned to his book.

She leaned forward into her reflection in a window and prodded her nose with one long finger. "And look at this nose! Aren't Whos supposed to have cute button noses? Where's mine? Apparently it got misplaced and someone gave me a basketball instead!"

"Nonsense," Patrick said without looking up. "Basketballs are orange, and your nose is most definitely purple. Now, if you wanted to dye it orange,  _then_  you could make the basketball comparison accurately. Until then, please let me read in peace."

Sarah shoved him. "Some support here?"

He chuckled and set his book aside. "I'm not good with support. Sal's the best in the support department. I offer witty one-liners and sarcastic remarks. It's why most people at school hate me."

She rolled her eyes. "Okay. I will just go live under a rock, where no one will have to see my hideous self ever again."

Patrick sighed. "Are we really going to do this? Fine, then, but if I sustain any injuries, there will be hell to pay. You are pretty. Always have been . . . well, since high school started, anyway. And you should embrace yourself - metaphorically - and realize that you love yourself."

"Hmm. That's not a bad idea." She glared at her reflection for a moment, then closed her eyes and threw her arms into the air. "I am embracing myself," she said in a monotone. "I embrace my fur, which looks like it got electrocuted and then fried. I embrace my nose, which is large enough to generate its own gravity and will someday crush Whoville."

Patrick rolled his eyes. "Sarah. . . ."

She opened one eye, keeping her arms in the air. "Do you mind? I'm embracing, here."

 _"Sarah!"_  He pulled her arms down to her sides. "There has to be  _one_  thing you like about yourself!"

"Well. . . ." She turned to the front lawn, where Jamie, Ned, and Sally were making their way towards them. Jamie was glaring at Sally, who was doing her best to look at Ned without  _looking_  like she was looking at him. Ned himself was trying to avoid everyone's gaze. Sarah flicked her wrist in their direction. "At least I don't have as many problems as they do."

* * *

Ned glanced down at his watch; it was eleven-thirty, the second bell had rung, and there was no sign of Sally. What was wrong with her today? She was usually never late.

"Is everyone here?" Mrs. Hampoongle, their Whonglish teacher, asked. She narrowed her eyes. "Who's missing?"

Ned raised his hand, excuses flying through his mind at the speed of light. "Sally. She's . . ." Sick or in the bathroom? Which excuse would get her less in trouble? "Ah, in the bathroom. I think."  _I hope._

The classroom door flew open and Sally staggered in, her bag hanging off of one shoulder and her fur disheveled. "Sorry. Bathroom." She flashed the teacher a quick, charming smile and sank into her seat.

Mrs. Hampoongle shook her head. "Well, now that everyone's here, please get into your groups for a few minutes and talk about last night's assignment."

Sally turned her desk toward Ned's, feeling a strange sense of triumph; they'd made their groups back in the beginning of the school year, so Jamie - who always sat on Ned's other side and butted into their conversations during class - was paired with one of her friends, leaving them to talk alone for once.

"Where were you?" he asked, reaching into his bag and pulling out a binder.

She shrugged. "Lost track of time, that's all."

"It's just not like you." He took out his essay - "Why Nothing Ever Goes Wrong in Whoville," predictably - and looked at her, cocking his head to the side. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"Oh, nothing! You just seem a little -"

"Everyone keeps asking me if I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"It's just. . . ." He picked up his essay and stared at it intently. "My thesis was that the solid yet flexible structure of the Whoville government resulted in few political issues, and the only thing that might make it better would be to . . ."

Mrs. Hampoongle walked by, glancing at them out of the corner of her eye, and Sally leaned forward, pointing at something on the paper.

"But my question is . . ." Sally began; Mrs. Hampoongle passed them, heading over to Jamie's group, and she dropped her voice, "what does everyone think is wrong with me?"

"I don't know!" He put the essay down. "I was worried because we don't really hang out anymore. I guess I was wondering . . . well, if you missed me."

"Oh, totally. I have withdrawal symptoms. I cry myself to sleep every night, screaming 'Oh, Ned! Where hast thou gone?'"

"Come on, Sal. Seriously. I miss you."

She smiled, putting her hand over his. "Of course I miss you. But I'm not going to commit suicide or anything. Please don't worry about me. It's embarrassing."

"I'll try. . . ." His face brightened, and he sat up straighter. "Do you want to come over after school today?"

"But I thought -" Mrs. Hampoongle was coming back, so she hastily said, "that there was a huge flood in 1962. Wouldn't that count as 'something wrong'?"

"Not exactly, because the citizens of Whoville pulled together and helped one another recover. So it strengthened Whoville."

"I see." Once the teacher was gone again, Sally said, "I think it'd be a lot of fun. But what about Jamie?"

"I'm sure she'd like a break to see her friends alone, too. She'll understand - she's been very cool recently."

"Great." She grinned. "I'll meet you at your locker after school."

"It's a date." They both glanced down at their hands, which were still entwined, and blushed. Ned pulled his away quickly and picked up his essay again. "What'd you write about, Sal?"

* * *

"I mean, 'It's a date'? What kind of thing is that to say when you have a girlfriend?"

Sarah shrugged, twiddling with her locker combination absently. "I doubt he meant anything by it."

"But it seems so  _weird,"_ Sally said, shaking her head. "Because it's not a date." She leaned against the row of lockers, glancing down at Sarah. "Is it?"

Sarah looked up at her. "You're kidding, right? When he has a girlfriend, it's definitely  _not_  a date."

"Oh, good. What a relief. I was worried he still . . . you know, liked me. Which he doesn't. Right?"

Sarah stood, balancing her books on her hip. "I have no idea anymore. I thought he did . . . but now he's dating Jamie and seems pretty happy, so I got nothing." She narrowed her eyes at Sally, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "Why are you making such a big deal out of this?"

"I'm not. It's not a big deal at all. I was just wondering what you thought." She bit her lip and looked down at her feet, feeling like a bug under a microscope. Why was everyone cross-examining her recently?

Sarah eyes lit up, and her mouth dropped open. "You like Ned!"

"What? No I don't!"

She started laughing. "Yes, you do! Oh, this is so great! I knew it would happen! Patrick owes me ten bucks!"

Sally froze. "Patrick  _what?"_

"That's not important," Sarah said, shaking her head. She beamed, clasping her hands under her chin. "This is so cool. It's like a fairy tale!"

"No, it's not, because I don't like him." Sally sighed, because Sarah was giving her an "Oh, who do you think you're fooling?" look. "I really don't."

The look didn't go away; if anything, it became more pronounced. "Betchya five bucks you do."

"Fine. Gimme five bucks."

Sarah wagged her finger at Sally. "Nuh-uh. Give it till the end of the week. You'll see that I'm right." She grinned wickedly. "Because  _you like him!"_

Exasperated, Sally whirled around and stomped down the hall.

Who did Sarah think she was, deciding how she felt? In fact, that was what everyone was doing to her! Deciding who she liked and whether she was okay or not. . . . They didn't know a darn thing.

And she'd prove it.

* * *

After Whonglish, once Sally had gone off to meet Sarah at her locker, Ned waited outside the classroom for Jamie, who was notoriously slow and thus always the last one out. When she finally appeared, she smiled at him and slipped her hand in his.

"Hey. Fun class, huh?" he asked.

"It could have been worse," she said. "At least I got to see Jackie. I've missed her, and I didn't even realize it."

This was going perfectly. "Actually, I was kinda thinking the same thing."

Jamie tilted her head. "That you miss Jackie?"

"No, that we don't really have a lot of chances to see our friends anymore. And I was thinking that I would hang out with Sally today after school, so that you could see your friends." He grinned at her. "What do you think?"

"I . . ." _I don't like it._

 _I_ really _don't like it._

There was no way she could say that. She'd only been dating Ned for a few weeks, and he'd been best friends with Sally for years. And there was always that stinging memory of their first date (and dumping) to make her feel like their relationship was hanging by a tether. Better not to push it.

But she was starting to notice something different in Sally. Something she didn't like or trust. And didn't she have the right to say  _something?_

"Jamie?"

"I think it would be a good idea. A  _great_  idea." She tried to smile, but could feel her lip threaten to tremble.

_Is this the beginning of the end?_

They came to a stop at his locker, and he dropped her hand to say goodbye, since they didn't have any more classes together or close enough to see one another. "Thanks, Jame. See you tomorrow." He gave her a peck on the lips, but when he tried to pull back, she grabbed the back of his head, kissing him harder.

It was their first  _real_  kiss, with tongue and everything, and in public no less! She was a little disappointed that it wasn't the way she'd expected. Romance books had prepared her for heart-stopping excitement, and what she really felt was . . . that it was nice. She only hoped that Ned was feeling something different, that he wasn't thinking about how pretty Sally was, or how  _she_  would kiss.

When she let him go, his eyes were huge and his face was bright red. She kissed his cheek. "See you tomorrow." She turned and walked away, feeling a thrill of triumph and satisfaction despite the slight disappointment. With any luck, he wouldn't forget that for a while. Just because their relationship didn't have the same passion she'd read about in her romance novels certainly didn't mean that she wanted to lose it to Sally, especially when she had already decided that she didn't want him.

_I'm not giving him up without a fight._

* * *

Sally froze a few feet away from Ned's locker, paralyzed by pure shock.  _I didn't know they kissed like that,_ she thought, a lump of lead forming in her gut.  _I didn't know he_ could _kiss like that._

He was still standing in the same spot, staring after Jamie and looking like he'd been socked in the stomach. A silly smile spread across his face, and he turned to his locker looking extremely cheerful. The lump of lead seemed to have abandoned her stomach and traveled up her throat, where it nested no matter how hard she tried to swallow it down.

Questions filled her mind, bringing with them images and a growing sense of horror. Did they do that a lot? What else had they been -  _hiding_ was the first word that came to mind, but she knew that wasn't really fair - not telling them about? Could he still like her if he did . . . that with Jamie?

 _Whoa._ Where had  _that_  come from? And why did she care?

The answer: She didn't.

Almost immediately Sarah's voice popped into her head. "Oh, who do you think you're fooling, Sal? And how long do you think you can keep it up? You can't lie to yourself forever, and you know it."

_That's not true! I'm not lying to myself!_

Sally sighed, turning around and heading to her Bio class, which she and Sarah had next. Luckily it was nearby; the first bell had rung a while ago, and possibly the second as well.

She wasn't fooling anyone except herself, and she couldn't even do that anymore. The world's best self-defense there was for someone in denial, and hers had crumbled, leaving behind . . . what?

An ugly, naked truth. One she wanted to throw a blanket over so that she didn't have to stare at it for another second. But she couldn't do that.

She slid into the room as the second bell rang, crossing the room to where Sarah had saved a seat for her. Without a word, she reached into her skirt pocket and fished out five Whodollars, slamming them onto the table. "What do I tell him?" she asked hoarsely.

Sarah stared down at the money, her confused expression slowly turning to one of simultaneous horror and excitement. She lifted her head, meeting Sally's eyes, and blinked, her mouth hanging open. "I don't know."


	10. It Only Took Ten Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! Or . . . is it?

**It Only Took Ten Years**  
  
“Sal? You there?”  
  
Sally blinked and looked up at Sarah. “What?”  
  
She smiled sympathetically. “I asked if you were all right.”  
  
“Oh. Yeah, I’m fine. Great.” She smiled back, then rested her head in her hand again and resumed her all-consuming task of . . . gazing out the window and moping.  
  
“You sure? Because we’re supposed to be starting our science project, and unless you’re actually  _not_  fine, I’m going to make you do some of this work.  _If,_ however, you’d like to continue moping, I’ll pick up the slack. But you have to really be not all right.” She picked up a packet that looked to be at least thirty pages — it was thick enough to defy staples, and had to be bound with one of those obnoxiously large paper clips — and waved it in front of her face. “So, are you okay?”  
  
“I guess I’m a little out of it,” Sally said, looking at the packet like it was going to bite her. “Eh . . . what did we choose again?”  
  
Sarah turned the papers around so that she could read the title. “‘The Study of Earthbound Organisms and their Anatomical' — I don’t know. I just picked up the first packet I saw lying on the table.” She saw the expression of horror on Sally’s face and sighed. “I’m sure I can figure it out. Go back to moping. And come up with an idea while you’re at it.”  
  
“Thanks.” Sally turned back to the window and stared at the courtyard below, hoping that something out there might give her some sort of inspiration. Not likely, considering the previous twenty minutes of staring at the courtyard had gotten her zilch, but she wasn’t one for giving up hope, especially when she had nothing better to do.  
  
She had to tell him. As ghastly as the idea was to her, she knew there was no other option. But how to say it?  
  
“Sarah, you don’t  _like_  anyone, do you?”  
  
Sarah’s head shot up. “What? Me? No. Why?”  
  
Sally opened her mouth, almost about to ask or tease (whichever option presented itself most readily) about the rapid-fire way she’d responded, but decided that selfishly helping herself was more important than selfishly amusing herself. Still, she couldn’t totally eradicate her smirk as she said, “I was just wondering what you would tell him about how you felt.”  
  
Her friend leaned forward, biting her lip. “Well . . . knowing me, I’d probably say nothing and die an old maid.” Her eyes widened. “But  _you_  shouldn’t do that!”  
  
“I wasn’t going to,” she replied. “I was just hoping for some general insight.”  
  
“I’d say you should ask Patrick, because he just seems to be the guy to go to for some reason, but he’s never really asked anyone out, either. In fact, Ned’s the only one of us who’s ever actually done that.” She shrugged. “Weird, huh?”  
  
“Yeah. Weird.” This wasn’t making her feel any better. That’s what she got for being selfish. “But what should I  _say?”_  
  
“I don’t know, Sal. . . . Have you ever considered just blurting it out? That might be best.”  
  
“Maybe.” Sally suddenly didn’t want to talk anymore. She looked over at the clock. There were only twenty-five minutes left until the day was over. Approximately thirty minutes until the moment of truth.  
  
Not to be melodramatic or anything.  
  
If it had just been a case of her having a crush on her best friend, she would have been able to deal with that. It wouldn’t have been  _fun,_  but she would have been okay. But Jamie made everything so much more difficult.  
  
It wasn’t fair. Ned was looked down on by pretty much everyone in the school; why couldn’t Jamie jump on  _that_  bandwagon? And why did Patrick want them to get together, anyway? Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone?  
  
 _Because he’s Ned’s_  friend, _you silly twit. Friends don’t cause each other overwhelming suffering when they can help it. Now stop whining and start being productive, because this “Why_ me?” _-Sally is just plain nauseating._  
  
There was undeniable truth in that voice, and Sally resolved not to mope about it anymore. When the time was right, she would say something. Before the day ended, for sure. She just had to go for it. Keep her chin up. Stop whining.  
  
In the meantime . . . she would continue to stare out the window and mope. She rested her chin in her hand and watched the trees swaying in the wind.  
  
After all, she needed plenty of time to get up the energy to stay optimistic, didn’t she?

* * *

Approximately twenty-seven minutes later, Sally knelt in front of her locker. She had absolutely no idea what she needed. She sat there for who-knew-how-long, her hands braced against her thighs, her expression dazed.  
  
“Sal?” A hand brushed her shoulder, making her jump. She tilted her head back and looked up into Ned’s smiling face. “Ready to go?” he asked, hiking up the straps of his backpack.  
  
“Yeah.” She grabbed a handful of books and crammed them into her bag helter-skelter. It didn’t really matter, anyway; school was close enough to being over that they weren’t given any official homework.  
  
They walked most of the way home in silence, which both of them were used to. Ned said something about how he was relieved summer was almost here, and Sally had agreed. Other than that, though, the only noise between the two was the soft thud of their footsteps on grass.  
  
“Sal? You all right?”  
  
Her head snapped up. “Huh? Oh, I’m fine.”  
  
He smiled. “Good.” Presently he said, “Thinking about something important?”  
  
“Sort of,” she admitted, shrugging. “I have something I have to tell you.”  
  
He stopped, and Sally realized that her tone had been a bit more doom-and-gloom than she’d wanted. “What is it?”  
  
“It can wait,” she said, and kept walking. After a few steps she noticed that Ned was still standing where she’d left him, studying her with narrowed eyes. “Really. It’s nothing to worry about.” She reached back and took his hand, pulling him forward to match her steps. “Let’s just hang out for a while, okay?”  
  
“Okay. . . .” But he didn’t drop her hand, and Sally was practically glowing. “Where are we going, anyway?”  
  
“I was thinking we’d stop at your house for food, and then go somewhere outside.” She craned her neck to look up at the sun and would have fallen over if Ned hadn’t held on to her hand. “I’m in an outdoorsy mood, aren’t you?”  
  
He shrugged, obviously still confused. “I don’t know.” Sally could almost  _see_  his decision to drop it, because his eyes brightened and he smiled. “Yeah, I guess I am.”  
  
“Great! Race ya!” She let go of him a split second after she started running, and he almost fell onto his face. He stumbled into a clumsy run and caught up to her with little trouble.  
  
“That wasn’t nice,” he said once he had recovered his balance.  
  
“Do I look like I care?” He shoved her into the bushes on the side of the road and kept going. She clambered to her feet and hurried after him, brushing leaves out of her fur.  _“That_  wasn’t nice!” she shouted. He was already at his front stoop, laughing and panting. When she caught up, he punched her shoulder and said, “Man, if I’d thought you weren’t going to catch up, I would have slowed down. Jeez. Are you getting lazy on me?”  
  
“You’re lucky I like you, McDodd.” She blushed, realizing how close that was to what she’d wanted to say.  
  
“Don’t I know it.” He opened the door and let her in first. “What do you want to eat?”  
  
She couldn’t eat. What had made her suggest food? “Uh . . . something unhealthy.”  
  
He pulled out a bag of chips and some sodas. “Look good?” he asked, holding them up. She nodded. “Let’s go, then.”  
  
They wandered out into the center of Who Park, where there were only a few little kids hanging out several yards away. It seemed as private as it was going to get -- much better than Ned’s house, which was full to bursting. Sally sat down, snatching a soda from Ned and opening it. She held it in her lap; there was no way she could put anything into her mouth right then without some very unpleasant results.  
  
Ned seemed to sense that something big was coming, because he was sitting up very straight and looking at her like a deer might look at a wolf. “What’s going on, Sal?” he asked after a few minutes. “You’re kinda scaring me.”  
  
Sally looked down at her soda. Little bubbles were popping, making a fizzy sound against the can. She licked her lips and pressed them together, taking a deep breath through her nose. “Ned?”  
  
He waited for her to say more, then added, with an air of impatience that was uncharacteristic of him, “Yeah?”  
  
“You remember what happened this year, right? The week before Christmas break?”  
  
“I think so.” He reached into the bag of chips and pulled out a handful. “Right, that was the week when you found out I . . .” He froze, the chips inches from his gaping-open mouth.  
  
She looked down again, her hands curling into fists around her drink. “Yeah. It’s like that.” He didn’t move a muscle. He just sat there, staring at her with wide eyes. “Less public, though,” she added. "And, you know, in reverse." She managed a weak smile. "It's the vice to your versa."  
  
Normally that kind of comment was just the kind of nerdy humor only he would get, and it would have sent him rolling on the ground laughing. Now, though, he just shook his head like a man in a dream. “No,” he said.  
  
Her forehead wrinkled, and she leaned in closer. “What?”  
  
“You don’t like me. You don’t."  
  
She smirked. “You think I haven’t tried that one? It didn’t work.”  
  
“Stop it! Stop acting like you —”  
  
“But I do!”  
  
 _“No you don’t!”_  he shouted. He crushed the potato chips in his fist into an oily smear of crumbs. He staggered to his feet, backing away from her like she was contagious. “You don’t,” he repeated, his voice almost a whisper. The kids had stopped their game and were watching them avidly.  
  
Whatever. She stood, too, staring him down. Confusion was starting to turn into anger, and part of her liked it. It hurt less, and made more sense. “Why don’t I?”  
  
“Because the world wouldn’t be that cruel!” That stunned Sally into silence. Ned clutched at his hair and said, “I . . . I have to go. Now. Right now.”  
  
He turned to walk away, which startled Sally into action. She leapt forward and grabbed his arm. “Wait! Can’t we just —”  
  
“No.” He shook her off. “I have to be alone and think. Because if I stay here with you, I know that I’m going to start to think . . . and I can’t, because I like Jamie, which I can’t believe I just said out loud, but there you go. She’s really nice. But . . . you’re my best friend, and I . . . I have to get out of here now.” He turned again and practically sprinted away, as though he thought she was going to chase him down and tackle him. Which seemed like a pretty good idea, now that she thought about it.  
  
Sally slumped onto the ground, putting her head in her hands and thinking about the week before Christmas break. “I reacted better than  _that,_  at least,” she said.

* * *

Ned didn’t realize how late it was until he stopped and looked up at the sky. He’d been walking for hours; he couldn’t even remember most of it.  
  
He had been thinking. He didn’t like thinking — well, not about  _this_  — but he’d been unable to do anything else. And hours upon hours of walking and thinking had led him to  _what_  conclusion?  
  
He had no idea. He hadn’t reached any type of decision yet.  
  
This called for more walking.  
  
“Ned?”  
  
His shoulders hunched up around his ears at the familiar sound of the voice — who, to his weary brain, could only be either Sally or Jamie, neither of whom he could deal with right then (or ever) — and he turned around very slowly with his hands curled into inward-facing claws under his chin, looking for all of Whoville like a little gremlin or ghoul.  
  
Sarah’s eyebrows shot up and she stepped back. “You okay?” she asked.  
  
He shook his head, letting his body relax. “I’m fine. Great. Yeah.” He was aware of his eye twitching but was unable to stop it. “So, what’s up?”  
  
“Going to Sally’s. I promised I’d hang out with her. She’s home, right?”  
  
“I’m . . . not sure.”  
  
“You didn’t see her this afternoon?”  
  
He looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “I kind of left in a hurry.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
He blinked, surprised. “You mean you don’t know?”  
  
“What don’t I know?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.  
  
“Oh boy, where to begin . . .” he said, mostly to himself. He took a deep breath and looked up at her. “Well, apparently Sally has this sort of . . . she's kind of . . . she likes me.”  
  
“And that’s a bad thing.” She flattened the end of the sentence, not allowing it to curl up into a question.  
  
“I . . . yeah! I mean, why  _now?_  I’m finally with someone who actually likes me, and I actually like, and now  _this?!_  It’s not fair.” He sat down on the curb, resting his chin in his hands.  
  
Sarah sat down next to him and put her hand on his shoulder. After a few awkward seconds, she let it drop; both of them sighed with relief. “It probably isn’t very fair for Sally, either.”  
  
She heard him pick up a stick and start drawing in the dirt with it. “I guess not,” he said, looking down at the dirt and twirling the stick between his fingers. After a moment he snapped the stick with a noise that sent whobirds fluttering into the sky with indignant squawks. “But  _why?!”_  he demanded, turning to Sarah with eyes that blazed with fierce desperation, like a man who wanted — no,  _needed_  — to do something violent but had no idea how to go about it. “She had years —  _years!_  — to like me — I know I’ve been in love with her since we were kids, maybe even the first time we met — and she picks  _now?!_ When I’m happy, more or less, when everything’s simple and not painful for once? Did she wait for this exact moment to mess everything up again?! Because she’s got  _damn great timing!”_  He snapped both halves of the stick again, making four little sticks and embedding splinters in his palms.  
  
“You know that’s not true,” Sarah said, fixing him with her best stern glare, which he and Patrick never failed to quail under (oddly enough, only Sally was immune to it).  
  
With a sigh, he flung away the pieces of stick, avoiding her gaze. “I know it’s not. But . . .” He slumped, letting his head fall into his hands. “What do I do?” he whispered.  
  
She put her head on his shoulder, which was somehow less awkward that putting her hand on it. “Pick one of them.”  
  
He barked out a humorless laugh. “Which one?”  
  
“Whichever one you can’t not be with.” He lifted his head, shrugging to make her lift hers and meet his eyes. They were blue-gray saucers of shock, and Sarah couldn’t help but smile at that. “This is kind of your last chance,” she said, leaning against him again. “If you dump Jamie, she won’t take you back again. She might be a doormat, but there’s only so much crap from you she’ll take.” Ned opened his mouth, but she held up her hand. “I know you don’t  _think_  you've done anything, but after everything’s said and done, take a minute and think about what’s happened between you two. You’ll understand." She waited a moment to let that sink in before continuing. "Anyway, Sally’s a totally different story. She’ll always be your friend — you’re too close for anything to pull you away now, and you’ve been through too much — but you guys can’t keep doing this back-and-forth thing forever, and she knows it.” She stood, stretching her back until it cracked, then looked down at him. He still had that same someone-just-hit-me-in-the-face-with-a-baseball-bat-and-I-don’t-know-why look, but she thought he’d be okay. “It’s up to you, but this isn’t a temporary deal, you know.” She grinned at him. “Well, I believe my time for Whoda-ing is over, and this speech is too great to ruin with anything else, so I’ll see you around. Call me if you need to talk or anything. I know I’m no Sally, but I care about you, too. So does Patrick.” She slapped her forehead and said, “Man, I said I wasn’t going to talk anymore! Am I unstoppable or what? Ugh, bye.” With that, she turned back the way she’d come.  
  
Ned watched her until she disappeared, then shook his head, smirking. “When did she get so smart?” he muttered to himself. All of a sudden everything seemed to make sense. But then again, he supposed, maybe he had always known what he had to do but didn’t want to admit it. He’d just needed a boot in the butt to help him officially make the decision. And Sarah was always good for boots in the butt.  
  
At that moment he’d never been so grateful for his friend in his entire life.  
  
He climbed to his feet and started down the road in the opposite direction Sarah had gone. This time he actually paid attention to where he was going; there was a pay phone nearby, he thought. Good thing he knew the number by heart.  
  
It rang five times — he was starting to think that she wasn’t home when she picked up. He took a deep breath and said, “Hey. It’s me. Can you meet me somewhere? I really have to talk to you.” There was a brief pause as he listened to the reply, then a smile that was both relieved and grim flashed across his face. It was gone almost as quickly. “Thanks, Sal. I’ll see you there.”  
  
He let the phone fall into the cradle and walked away.


	11. The Circle Closes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's FINALLY here. Took these losers long enough.

**The Circle Closes**

"So what now?"

"What do you mean?" Sally asked. She was sitting cross-legged on the grass, braiding the purple-pink strands of a weeping willow that hung inches above the ground in front of her. Ned was leaning against the trunk of the tree several feet away, watching her with a dazed smile. Every few minutes or so she'd glance back at him, blush, and grin stupidly before turning back around.

"I mean, we have to . . . I don't know,  _do_  something now, right?"

Sally let the strands of tree she'd been holding slip through her fingers, turning back around to face him. "Like what?"

"I don't know," he said with a shrug. Not wanting to get up, he scooted over to her on his butt to her, his long limbs comically askew. When he reached her, he picked up the pieces of the braids again and tried to weave them the way Sally had. "Like . . . isn't this the part where I ask you out to dinner or something?"

She rolled her eyes. "You don't have to do that. We've been friends since we were kids. I  _know_  I like you already."

"But isn't it tradition to do something?"

"Like I give a darn about tradition."

"But I do!" The emphatic tone in his voice startled her. He was still holding the pathetic braid, but he was one-hundred-percent focused on her. "I want to do this right," he said, a little embarrassed now that she was looking directly at him, "whatever that means."

Sally smiled and took the braid out of his hand. "All right, then. What do we do first?" When he didn't do anything more than shrug, she leaned in closer and said out of the corner of her mouth, "This is the part where you ask me out to dinner or something." She winked and added, "Or so I've heard."

He nodded, drawing himself up to full height and puffing his chest out. "Sally," he boomed, and she had to bite back a giggle, "would you like to go on a date with me?"

She held out the hand that wasn't still holding the tree-braid and he took it. "I would love to."

"Great!" He squeezed her hand and dropped it. "Tomorrow night?"

"Hmm. . . ." She tapped her chin and shot him a sideways glance. "I suppose that is acceptable. I'll have to sacrifice some extremely important goings-on for this, I hope you know." Those goings-on were only watching TV with Sarah and gossiping, but she'd been caught up in the moment and was feeling theatrical. Besides, she had to tease him a  _little_.

"Thank you." Again Ned's tone of voice surprised her - there was an undeniable sincerity in his words this time. She grinned and shifted closer to him.

"The pleasure's all mine."

* * *

Ned returned home just as the clock was striking twelve-thirty. He was grateful that he didn't have a curfew, so no one would jump down his throat for being late.

"A- _hem."_  He turned around to see Mimi standing behind him with her arms crossed and her glasses pushed down so she could glare at him over them. Years of arguments had shown that her glare-over-glasses look was one of her most intimidating, one that Ned could never match due to his near-perfect vision.

"Mom and Dad are out," she said, keeping her face blank.

"Okay." There was a pit of dread forming in Ned's stomach, but he wasn't quite sure what it meant yet. However, if Mimi's thunderous expression was any indication, he was going to find out soon enough.

"I had a date tonight."

An idea was definitely forming in his mind. "Really? How was it?" he asked, his voice almost squeaking.

"I didn't go. I had to call and tell him that my brother was  _supposed_  to baby-sit our siblings, but he went AWOL and I had to make sure they didn't kill someone."

 _"Ah."_ Ned vaguely remembered making that promise to watch them, but due to everything that had happened that night he'd forgotten.

"So," Mimi continued, still keeping her voice soft, "instead of watching  _'Whoday the 13th,'_  which you  _know_  I've been dying to see ever since it came out —"

He did. She'd been talking about it almost nonstop since she'd seen the movie poster. In fact, she'd begged him several times to go with her, even though she knew it was useless; though she loved scary movies, he couldn't stand them.

"— and enjoying a great evening with Ryan Holly, who actually seems like a really nice guy, I got to watch Jonathan and Samantha kill each other over what we were going to watch on TV, wrestle with Hannah to keep her from eating a lamp plug, and bathe Matty, and you know how hard  _that_  is." She put her hands on her hips, fixing him with her harshest look yet, mostly because it was mixed with a little hurt that he would do this to her. "So you'd better have a _really_  good reason for not showing up. And since Jamie's been calling about every twenty minutes or so, I can assume that you weren't out with  _her._  Also, whenever I pick up, she wants to talk to me for like twenty minutes! I have to get Rick to answer the phone!"

Crap. He'd forgotten all about Jamie. "Oh. . . ."

"'Oh'?" Mimi repeated. "What does that mean?"

Ned sighed, running a hand through his hair and making it stick up in every direction. "I have to call her."

"Oh,  _really?_  And what's so important that you have to go call your girlfriend while I'm still yelling at you?" He was silent for a moment, and Mimi's irritation turned to concern — though she did her best to conceal it, merely pursing her lips and crossing her arms. When almost an entire minute had gone by and he still hadn't said anything, Mimi rolled her eyes and turned to go. "Fine, whatever. I'm just your twin, you don't have a responsibility to  _me_  or anythi —"

"Mimi . . . have you ever broken up with anyone?"

She froze, then whirled around and gave Ned only a glance before focusing all her attention on the opposite wall. "Why?" she asked, keeping her voice as frosty as possible.

"Because I have to dump Jamie."

She'd seen that coming, she had to admit, but it was still enough to throw off her guard. She dropped the huffy attitude and looked at him straight-on (without wanting to kill him, anyway) for the first time since he'd walked in. "Oh. Why?"

He laughed.  _"There's_  a complicated story."

"Sally?"

"All right, I guess it's not so complicated. . . ."

Mimi smirked. "Nah, I'm just brilliant," she said with a grin.

"So what do I —"

 _BrrrIIING!_  The sound made both of them freeze, their expressions mirror images of shock.  _BrrrIIING!_

"That'll be her," Mimi said.

"What do I do? What do I do?" Ned began pacing up and down the front hall at an alarming speed. Back, forth, back, forth, back, forth. "What do I  _do?"_

_BrrrIIING!_

"What do I do?"

"You can't dump her over the phone."

_BrrrIIING!_

Ned stopped his trek around the foyer, giving her a weird look. "Why not?"

"Because it's rude!" Mimi threw her hands up into the air. "Are all boys this clueless?"

_BrrrrIIING!_

"So what do I do?"

"Ask her to go out tomorrow and talk about something." Ned reached for the phone, which was now on its sixth  _BrrrIIING!,_ but she caught his wrist before he could pick it up. "But don't sound all doom-and-gloom - you want her to sleep tonight, don't you?"

"WILL  _SOMEBODY_  ANSWER THAT ALREADY?" Ned and Mimi, who were the only ones still awake, looked up to see about ten of their siblings on the second-floor landing, glaring down at them through bleary eyes and bed-hair.

Ned looked down at the little orange phone and gulped. He reached down and picked it up.  _BrrrII -_ "Hello?"

"Ned! It's me, Jamie."

"Jamie? What're you still doing up?" He tried his best to sound like he'd been asleep, hoping that would get her off the phone more quickly.

"I wanted to say goodnight to you . . . like I always do." Her voice was softer than he'd ever heard it before, and Ned wondered if she'd somehow already heard. "Did I wake you up?"

"What? Oh, yeah. I came home and went to bed. Without seeing anyone. Why? Did you call?" Mimi rolled her eyes at him and mouthed,  _Liar._ He stuck his tongue out at her and waited, twirling the phone cord around one finger. He tugged too hard and the entire thing flew off the table and across the room, missing Mimi's head by an inch and making a terrible racket. Ned was still holding the other part of the phone to his ear, and the cord acted like a bungee and sent the radio flying back at him, smacking him dead-on in the stomach.

He collapsed to his knees, dropping the phone. Mimi scampered over, picked it up, and said, "Ned's having difficulties with the phone. Please stand by" before setting it down on the table — ignoring the tinny sound of, "Mimi?  _Hi!_  How are you?" — and kneeling down next to him. When he thought he could breathe again, she handed it back to him with a curt "All better now" to Jamie.

"Ned?" Jamie sounded both amused and worried. "What happened?"

"The phone took a little trip. But it's all good now. So . . . what's up?"

"I wanted to reach you when you got home from hanging out with Sally." There was a pause. "Did you guys have fun?"

"Well . . . yeah, I guess." Mimi snorted, making him nearly drop the phone in surprise. When he met her gaze again, she made kissing faces at him. He shoved her into the kitchen and closed the door, hoping the muffled protests weren't transferred over the phone. "We just hung out."

There was a soft  _click! -_ something only years of living with his siblings could have trained his ears for - and he knew Mimi was on the line, too. Jamie, unaware of their eavesdropper, said, "Okay. That's good. Do you want to hang out tomorrow, maybe? In the morning or something?"

"Yeah, that sounds great. I'll meet you in the park tomorrow at nine-thirty or so?"

"Good." There was another pause, longer this time. Ned was starting to wonder if she'd accidentally hung up when she said, "I love you."

His mouth dropped open. Neither of them had said that to each other (and Ned knew he'd never particularly  _wanted_  to, though he liked her well enough), and he had no idea how to respond. "Uh, thanks, Jamie. That's . . . uh, good. Bye." With that, he dropped the phone into its cradle like it was poisonous.

Mimi came back into the hallway, shaking her head. "She's gonna be awake all night, that's for sure."

Before he went to sleep, he made a quick call to Sally. Luckily she was still awake, and he hadn't woken up the rest of the house. They talked briefly, then he collapsed on his bed, fully clothed, and didn't move until ten the next day.

* * *

"Great, great, great," Ned muttered, drawing his coat tighter around him and pulling the hood up. Not only was he almost an hour late to see Jamie, but it was raining. Which meant that he'd made her wait for a half hour in a downpour. And, of course, she was waiting for so long to be dumped for a girl she quite obviously hated. And she probably wouldn't be dumped very well, since Ned had slept through the morning he'd planned on spending preparing for this very dumping.

Today was going to suck.

Jamie was huddled on a bench, her long blue hair pulled back and her eyes scanning the otherwise-empty park. She hadn't dressed for the rain - it must have started moments after she'd arrived. She was wearing a bright pink sundress with a pink flower in her hair. She looked sweet and pretty, and part of Ned's mind started wondering if this was really the best idea. Then he thought of Sally, with her orange eyes and fur. If  _she_ ever wore pink, it'd be the most hideous thing ever; Sarah might kill her. Sally would never think to put flowers in her hair or, well, try to look nice unless it was for something fancy. She was a lot more practical than Jamie, and less silly. But still, Sally was also less sweet and cute.

It didn't matter how silly or pretty Jamie was, though. It was the difference between "like" and "love," and there would never really be a contest.

"Hey, Jamie."

She looked up, and her eyes lit up, a smile spreading across her face. It hurt him more than he'd expected to see it. She stood, a surprisingly elegant move — how had he never noticed how graceful she was? — and smoothed out her dress. "Hi! How's your sister? Are you okay? Nothing bad happened to you, right? I was starting to get worried . . ."

"No. Sorry, Jame. I just overslept."

"That's okay." Normally she would have slipped her hand in his, or sidled up to him and given him a kiss, but instead she just tightened her ponytail, keeping her eyes glued to the ground. Her smile had grown tense and nervous. "So . . . should we go somewhere . . . drier?"

"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Uh, where?"

She shrugged and giggled. They stood there, the heavy rain replaced by drizzle and mist. This was more awkward even than their first date, and Ned realized that she knew. She had to know. How could anything possibly be this uncomfortable if she  _didn't_  know?

"You're breaking up with me, aren't you?"

Yep. She knew. Part of him — the mean, selfish part — couldn't help but be relieved. Maybe it could be over quickly.

"I guess I am."

"You  _guess?_ You ought to be pretty sure, because I'm not going to be dumped for a 'maybe.'" She sounded remarkably calm, her eyes now focused on his, her mouth not trembling. It wasn't anything like he'd expected, and he felt an almost staggering wave of relief before he noticed how bloodshot her eyes were, and how deep the shadows under them were.

She had to have been crying almost all night to look that bad.

"I'm sure," he said.

"Well then that's that." To her credit, she didn't start crying, though her eyes got a little misty. Though that might have actually been the mist.

"Yeah." Ned wished desperately that he had something to say that wasn't monosyllabic, but he seemed to have used up his store of words earlier in the week. "I'm sorry."

She smiled at him. It was a weak smile at best, but it was still better than nothing. "Me too." Then she coughed and averted her eyes. When she looked back, she kept her gaze on his nose. "But it's just high school, right? Nothing ever lasts except boredom. And people are still trying to figure themselves out and what they like . . . It's all a confused mess, huh?"

He wasn't entirely sure what she meant by that last bit, but he knew he'd been confused for the last few weeks. "Right." To his credit,  _he_  didn't start crying. "Thank you for -"

Her eyes hardened. "For not freaking out? I guess I've grown up a little." Her lips thinned until they were almost invisible. "Not enough, maybe, but a little."

"For being a great friend," Ned finished, and she blinked and looked down, shamefaced.

"I'm sorry. I wanted this to be mature. That way we could both go off into the world better people and all that." She knelt down, fumbling for her bag, which was now soaking wet. "I should go."

"I'm —"

"Don't say it." She stood, clutching the bag to her chest, and pecked him on the cheek. "This is better." With that, she turned and disappeared into the mist. It was an exit fit for the stage; Sarah would have been impressed.

He sank down onto the bench, putting his head in his hands. That selfish part of him was wondering if maybe he hadn't made the wrong decision. Sarah was right: whatever he and Jamie had had, it was over. And maybe that wasn't a good thing.

"Ned?" He looked up, half-expecting to see Jamie come to beg, half-expecting to see Sarah come to dispense wisdom — wasn't that usually when she showed up? Instead he saw Sally, the one person he  _ought_  to have been expecting, since he'd asked her to come. "I'm not too early, right? Jamie's come and gone?"

He nodded, and she sat down next to him. He thought she was going to ask him about it, but she only put an arm around him, laying her head on his shoulder. "Breaking up sucks, huh?" she mumbled against his arm after a few minutes.

"It really does."

"Regret it yet?"

He nudged her off his shoulder and met her eyes. "Not for a second."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, come  _on."_

"What? I didn't!"

"Liar." She crossed her arms, straightening enough that she could look down at him over her nose.

He quailed under the gaze. "Okay, maybe for  _half_  a second. Three-quarters at most."

Sally climbed to her feet, shaking her head and pulling him up. "You're a little wet," she said, looking him up and down.

He glanced at himself; the rain had stopped, and the mist was just beginning to fade, but water was dripping off his fur and forming a not-tiny puddle around his feet. "Rain'll do that to you."

She shoved him toward the entrance of the park. "Go home and get dry. I hear you have a date, and she won't want you to look like a drowned rat. Unless you're planning on getting sick and standing her up, in which case she might hurt you."

He grinned at her. "I wouldn't miss this date if my head fell off."

She wrinkled her nose. "That'd be unpleasant. Try to keep your head attached, and if it falls off, get one of your sisters to sew or staple it back on -  _don't_  do it yourself! And be at my house at seven." She turned and started walking in the opposite direction, toward her house. "I have a  _lot_  of work to do."

He watched her go, feeling strangely warm and fuzzy despite the rain and that morning's unpleasantness. Then he shook his arms, watching the water fly off of them in buckets. "So do I."


	12. The First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned and Sally's first date goes better than Jamie's . . . but not by much.

**The First Date**  
  
"How do I look?"  
  
"Fine," Patrick said without looking up. He was sprawled across Ned's bed with his feet on Ned's pillow, reading one of the  _WhoTeen_  magazines his sisters left lying all over the house. "Did you know that what drives men wild is a woman's 'delicate yet extravagant use of hair dye'? Is it possible to be delicate and extravagant at the same time?"  
  
"Who cares?" Ned asked, his eyes darting from the shirt he'd half-unbuttoned in a panic to the mirror. "Does this shirt look good?"  
  
Patrick finally glanced away from the magazine. His eyebrows twitched. "Unless you're going for the Fabio look, I wouldn't wear it like that."  
  
Ned looked down at himself, yelped, and began unbuttoning with such fervor that Patrick thought he'd tear the fabric.  _Fabio indeed,_  he thought with a smirk, and turned back to the magazine, listening to Ned battle with his clothing and sighing at the beautiful young woman who insisted that "my music is, like, totally from the heart, y'all. It's about what all of us feel deep down inside. Like, where the heart is. 'Cause it's inside, you know?"  
  
"How do I look?"  
  
"Fine," Patrick said, assuming that he didn't actually have to  _see_  Ned. As long as he had his underwear on the inside of his pants, he ought to be fine.  
  
He heard the frantic scrambling of another outfit change. "How do I look?"  
  
"Fine."  
  
Another. "How do I look?"  
  
"Fine."  
  
Another. "How do I look?"  
  
Patrick sighed, setting the magazine down yet again. "You look horrible, Ned. Appalling. Hideous. Mine eyes doth bleedeth and mine heart crieth at the sight of such an abomination. Is that what you'd like to hear? Because I have fall fashion tips to get back to, here. It's only July fifth; I have to start planning my wardrobe."  
  
Ned just stared at him, his eyes huge gray disks. After a moment he burst out laughing; the sound was only slightly shrill and panic-stricken, which Patrick took as a good sign.  
  
When Ned had reached a point where he could breathe again, Patrick pointed into the closet. "Pick a shirt. It doesn't matter which one it is, because your shirts look almost exactly the same. By the way, do you even  _own_  something that doesn't button up? You look like a really short accountant."  
  
He slipped into the closet and pulled out a long green shirt. He held it up for Patrick's inspection.  
  
"Good. Now put it on. Don't miss any buttons. Double-check that you're wearing pants, triple-check that your pants have cash somewhere in their recesses, and maybe run a brush through your hair. Then sit down and read about purses with me."  
  
Ned shook his head and snickered, and Patrick decided that his friend would be okay. Once he was dressed — and had made sure, several times, that the outfit was acceptable — he knelt down on the bed. "Are you really reading about purses?" he asked.  
  
"Not anymore," Patrick said. "I've moved on to tips on not being fat. Apparently the secret is not to eat." He looked down at his considerable paunch. "Nah, I don't feel like it. I just finished an article on how to be satisfied with your body, and I'm feeling comfortable with my inner  _femme fatale."_  
  
"You're weird, aren't you?" Ned said, pulling a wad of crumpled money out of his pants pocket and scurrying over to the window to make sure that Sally hadn't decided to show up two hours early.  
  
"I prefer to think of myself as eccentric and charming, myself," Patrick replied, flipping through the glossy pages and marveling at the astounding amount of crap that women read. "Where's the literature in these things?  _The Whodyssey? Les Miserwhobles?_  This is all so mind-numbing! 'Where Are They Now?' 'Look Who's Richer and Thinner Than You!' 'Hate Yourself? Here's Why!' It's sickening!"  
  
"I know. It's great," Ned mumbled, still fixated on the street outside.  
  
Patrick rolled his eyes. "It's enough to make a man turn gay, right? Don't you feel gay just listening to this stuff?"  
  
"Yep," Ned said.  
  
"So it's settled. We'll forget about this date with Sally, and we'll run away and get married. Your dad will be thrilled. Sound good to you?"  
  
"Sure." He blinked and turned around. "Wait, what was that about Sally?"  
  
Patrick laughed and went over to Ned, patting him on the back. "Nothing. Just keep up your vigil and don't let any ninjas in, okay? I'm going home to call Sarah. We have to keep my house safe; those pesky ninjas see me as their Number One Suspect. After you, of course."  
  
"Yeah," he said, his head turning back to the window. "Good. Have fun."  
  
"That man," Patrick said, closing the door behind him and slipping out into the night, "holds the future of Whoville in his hands."

* * *

It was probably the first time that Ned had seen Sally dressed up, unless he counted her grandmother's funeral, or that one New Year's Eve party his mother had tried to throw before realizing that formal affairs were not for women with fifty children below the age of ten. Or school picture days, or any times Sally felt bored with her normal wardrobe and wanted to look pretty, or when she was trying to impress some guy or another. Really, there was rarely a month in which she didn't dress up at least once.  
  
But it was the first time she'd ever dressed up for  _him,_  and that made it different. Her hair was curled around her face, and she'd abandoned the typical orange-yellow color scheme for a bright blue dress that made her fur look even redder. In contrast, Ned felt just as lanky and scruffy as ever. He tugged on the collar of his shirt and smiled, wondering if Sally would up and decide that it wasn't worth it, that she couldn't date such a slob, that she should just go home and watch TV. When her eyes widened, his worst fears were confirmed.  
  
She beamed, looking him up and down. "You ready to go?" she asked. He nodded and took the hand she held out. As they made their way into town, she leaned in and whispered, "Wow, I had no idea you cleaned up so well, Ned," and his worst fears were dispelled. The sky seemed teeming with stars and possibilities, and he squeezed her hand tighter.  _This is going to be perfect,_  he thought as she took one of the handles of his picnic basket and he took the other.  _Absolutely perfect._  
  
At that exact moment, the stars were hidden by clouds and the skies opened up. To compliment the dramatic change in the weather, there was a crack of thunder loud enough to make them both cringe. With the wind slapping sheets of icy water at them, they sprinted to the nearest store, panting and dripping. "Oh no, oh no," Ned moaned, looking out at the town square, which had transformed into a nightmare of flashing lightning and freezing water; people everywhere were ducking into shops and cars, and one brave — or possibly stupid — soul was trying to swim after his purchases, which had been ripped from his hands.  
  
Sally lifted up the soaking wet blanket that covered the wooden basket. "Everything still seems dry," she said. "It's all sealed up and perfectly edible. And you know this will clear up in a few minutes, anyway. It's not like we've never had unpredictable weather before." She wrung out her hair and shook her arms. "We can just camp out in here until the storm subsides."  
  
"Uh, actually . . . you can't." They turned to see the store clerk hovering over them, looking guilty and a little embarrassed. "This store is only open to Whos 21 and older. Kids aren't allowed in." He pointed to the sign, which had a slim red bottle on it and a picture of a small Who in a circle. The circle had an X through it. "I'm sorry, guys, but you have to leave or it could be bad for me."  
  
Ned groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Of course," Sally said, hooking one arm through his and picking up the basket — which was heavy for just her, but she didn't have the heart to ask Ned to carry it. "We'll be fine. Look, it's started to calm down already."  
  
That was sort of true; the rain and wind  _were_  letting up, and the lightning had left as soon as it came. However, it was being replaced with . . .  
  
"Oh no." Ned glanced up long enough to see the phenomenon before hanging his head again. "Is that snow?"  
  
"It's fine," Sally said, pulling him out onto the slippery sidewalk. "We've seen snow before."  
  
"Not in July!"  
  
She considered that for a moment. "We've seen it in August once or twice."  
  
"This is a disaster," Ned said. His clothes and fur were plastered to his skin, and he looked absolutely miserable. "A complete disaster."  
  
Sally shook her curls out of her face, though they couldn't be called curls anymore; they were really more like limp strands of red seaweed. "It's nothing of the sort," she said. "Come on, you big baby. Let's go find somewhere to eat this."  
  
Ned took no notice of the teasing. "This was supposed to be fun," he mumbled. "It was supposed to be perfect."  
  
"If you'd quit moping and look around, you'd see that people are having fun! It's  _snow,_  Ned! It's beautiful!" He looked up and saw that most of the Whos had emerged from their hiding places and were looking around, amazed. An elderly couple was trying to catch snowflakes on their tongues, and a few teenagers were already starting a snowball fight. "Besides, perfection is in the eye of the beholder." She stopped, putting her cold hands under his chin and forcing him to meet her eyes. "Like beauty." Sally leaned forward and kissed him.  
  
It was a very simple kiss, a peck that was held for a little too long. Really, it was nothing special, a fact that was made obvious by the cacophony of hoots and jeers from the snowball-playing teenagers, and the cry of "Take it  _off!"_  accompanied by a half-formed ball of slush tossed their way. They jerked apart, wiping the snow off their faces and blushing. Straightening her dress and ignoring the kids — who, she realized by watching them out of the corner of her eye, were Tom Birch and his friends, and who had returned to their game without another word (or snowball) — she held out her hand for Ned to take. "I think this date's going pretty well, don't you?" she said.  
  
Ned nodded, looking dazed. "W-where would you like to go eat?" he asked.  
  
She beamed, and pecked him on the cheek. "Somewhere with a view," she said.

* * *

They ended up trudging all the way back to Ned's house and, since the snow had stopped falling — was, in fact, already melting — decided to sit on the porch and eat. Sally was wrapped up in a huge blanket, and had called her mother to say that she'd be spending the night with Ned's siblings, since they were wrangled into short-notice baby-sitting duty so that Mimi could have another shot at that date.  
  
Ned unwrapped a cupcake and handed it to Sally, listening to his sisters argue over phone privileges. "I'm going to have to settle that, aren't I?" he said, licking frosting off his fingers.  
  
Sally nodded, picking up a raspberry and setting it on top of the cupcake. "We'll have to go inside in a minute. We could hide the rest of this under the porch so that it doesn't get stolen."  
  
He sighed. "I wish this hadn't ended up so . . . ordinary. It was supposed to be a lot more romantic and a lot less baby-sit-y."  
  
She shrugged, turning her face up to his for a kiss. "I don't know. For a first date, it wasn't too bad." She wiggled out of her cocoon of down, picking up their trash. "Though you'll have to be careful not to make the next one quite so weather-dependent. There are only so many times Mimi will let me borrow her pajamas, I think."  
  
"Next date?" He sat up. "You want one?"  
  
She turned to him and rolled her eyes. "Of course I want one! Don't you?"  
  
He stood, taking the trash out of her hands and shoving it into his back pocket so that he could hug her. "Absolutely."


	13. Potatoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all a matter of perspective.

**Potatoes**  
  
"Sally, where are you?" Ned whispered, slumping back against the wall of the school. He glanced at his watch; it'd been an hour since she'd left him there with a kiss and the promise of "I'll be right back." Now the sun was just starting to slink behind the trees and his neck was stiff from watching out for her. _"Sal,"_  he moaned, stepping away from the wall and putting his hands on the small of his back, arching to crack it.

"You all right?"

He turned around and saw Jamie standing behind him, hugging her books to her chest. She'd dyed her fur so that instead of being a melancholy, dull blue, she was navy. It made her look older somehow. "I'm fine," he said, slumping back against the wall. "Just waiting for Sally."

"Oh. Can I wait with you? Jackie's supposed to be talking to Mrs. Kotsky."

Ned didn't want to say no (well, actually he did, but he didn't think it would be polite), so he nodded and managed a smile. After a few tense seconds, he tilted his chin towards her hair. "I like it."

"Thanks. This girl, Kira, said it would look cute, and I just thought . . ." She giggled. "I mean, if she thought so, I should give it a shot, huh?" He nodded, resulting in a few more moments of silence. This was excruciating.

"So how've you been? Good summer?"

"Yeah. I'm seeing someone." Her face was so purple after saying it that Ned knew she hadn't meant to blurt it out. When he didn't respond, she continued. "Paul. From . . . from math class. He's yellow."

"Oh, yeah. I know him." Ned didn't know there was a Paul in their math class. He didn't even know if there was anyone yellow. Of course, he never paid attention to anything but schoolwork, so that might have been part of his problem. "Nice guy."

"Yep." Silence. Ned's legs were just itching to run away, and if he didn't think that Sally was coming back sometime, he would. Well, he'd come back later and apologize. But that didn't change the fact that he wanted nothing more than to be out of this conversation.

"Listen, Ned, I'm really sorry about everything that's happened."

He turned to her, confused. "What's happened?"

"You know . . . I was just being so immature about everything. I really like Sally a lot," she added hastily, "I was just embarrassed that you didn't seem to like me as much as I liked you and . . ." She trailed off, studying her shoes with an intensity that didn't seem warranted.

"But I did like you." Jamie's head snapped up, her eyes wide with surprise.

"But I thought you were in love with Sally," she said, her voice little more than a murmur.

"Well, yeah. But that doesn't mean I didn't like you. You were just —"

"In the wrong place at the wrong time," she finished, her face lighting up with understanding. "I get that. And by the time you meet someone you liked, you don't feel the same way as you thought you did, and then you don't know  _what_  to think, because you don't know how you feel about anyone. You know what I mean, right?"

 _Not at all._ But he nodded and looked away. This was probably the most uncomfortable he'd ever been in his entire life. As the silence spun out between them, winging its way towards the woods at the edge of the parking lot and disappearing into the golden sky, he pondered three guys that always sat next to his and Patrick's art table. They were all red, long and lanky, with ripped clothes and messy hair. Neither Ned or Patrick had known their names, but they were always complaining about how obnoxious their various ex-girlfriends were, and how horrible it was to have so many whiny — they used a word that Ned tried to avoid — to deal with all the time. He and Patrick had thought it was ridiculous;  _oh, poor me! I have too many women in my life! How can I_ ever _deal with such horror and pain?_

He was now starting to see their point.

Jamie had continued, though Ned wasn't sure exactly how long she'd been talking. "Anyway, I just feel like I really wasn't fair to either you or Sally, and I want to turn over a new leaf. Kira says that it's best to talk about your troubles, and so that's what I'm doing now." She turned slightly pink and added, "Paul thinks so, too. I talk to him about it a lot."

"Paul must be a great guy," he said, thinking,  _Paul must be a saint._

Her eyes lit up. "Yes, he listens to everything I say, no matter how boring. I'm quite lucky." Before he could reply, she threw her arms around his neck and pecked him on the cheek.

Actually,  _this_ was the most uncomfortable he'd ever been in his entire life. He patted Jamie on the back and tried to push her away. "Jamie," he began, gasping at her grip, "I'm glad we're friends again" — though he'd never honestly thought that they'd stopped being friends, and wasn't sure exactly how close they were now supposed to be since their estrangement was apparently over — "but don't you think —"

"Oh, of course." She peeled herself off of him with a shy smile. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." She turned away, her smile fading to a look of bafflement, and under her breath she muttered, "Nothing?"

Ned was about to ignore that strangeness and lie through his teeth when he heard the sound of someone clearing their throat. He whirled around and saw Sally leaning against the wall behind him. Her expression was hard to read. "Sal!" he exclaimed, taking a quick step away from Jamie with an embarrassed grin. "You're back!"

 _You're not guilty,_ his brain said with the bone-deep weariness of someone who's spent their entire life talking to idiots.  _You've done nothing wrong, so stop acting like you two were making out or something!_

"I am," she said. She turned to Jamie. "How are you?"

"Good," Jamie mumbled, "though I kind of have to go find Jackie. She should have been back by now. . . ." Without bothering to say goodbye, she hurried into the school. Sally watched her go, and that time Ned had no problem reading her expression; much like John Whayne in those old films, her body language was just screaming  _You'd better run._

"What took so long?" Ned asked once she was gone. He was aware that his smile was strained and his eyes were bugging out (they felt far too large for his head), but he couldn't do anything about it. "You were in there a while."

She shrugged. "There were a lot of kids with math woes." She shot him a sideways glance, adding, "Besides, it didn't look like you were bored. That was quite the hug."

"Yeah." There was a beat of silence.  _Okay, Ned,_ his brain instructed.  _Relationships can hinge on these moments. She doesn't seem too suspicious, so as long as you can prove to her that everything's fine, she'll be happy. Be careful, because you tend to screw things up. Just be calm._ "She wants to be friends."  _That would have been perfect if your voice hadn't cracked on "friends."_

Sally made a noncommittal noise. "You realize that you're acting very suspicious, don't you?"

 _Bingo._ "I know, Sal, but nothing happened, seriously. She's seeing someone. Paul. From math class." He smiled with a vague sense of victory. He couldn't help but feel nervous; Sally and Jamie just seemed to want to think the worst of each other, and the worst of Ned when he hung out with either. It was infuriating as well as terrifying.

To his surprise, she smirked. She was in their math class, too. "Paul? You mean Paul Fishe? He's gay, Ned. They're definitely not dating unless there's something about her you're not telling me."

He ducked his head. "I wouldn't know," he muttered. "But she said they were dating."

"Trust me, he's more interested in you than in her." She stepped a little closer, peering through the glass doors to try and get a glimpse of her. "Makes you wonder why she lied, huh?" He had no response. Sally stopped and put her hands on her lips. "Just tell me the truth, Ned," she began. "Did she kiss you?"

 _Lie! If you've never lied before in your life, do it now!_ He nodded, focusing his gaze on his feet.  _Idiot._ He was too afraid to even glance up and see how Sally was taking it. Which was why he didn't realize that she was storming off until she stepped on a stick with a huge  _crack_. Like it was a gunshot for a race, he took off after her, almost tripping on the stick that she'd stepped on. "Sally, it was on the  _cheek!_ It didn't mean anything! I —  _ack!"_ His foot slipped into a hole and he collapsed, his ankle throbbing.

Sally had paused, unsure whether to go back and make sure he was okay or keep walking. Finally she turned around and hauled him to his feet. "What is it about her?" she asked, not meeting his gaze.

"Nothing! Sally, how can you think that?" He was actually getting angry. "How can you look at anyone else in the world and see someone better than you? Who exists that you think is more beautiful, or nicer, or funnier?  _Saner_ , maybe, but aside from that —"

"Was that a joke?" She let go of his arm, letting him wobble for a few precarious seconds before he found his footing again. "Is this funny to you?" she demanded. "I'm sorry, maybe  _I_  should find this funny, too! Some girl comes up and starts crawling all over my boyfriend and then he acts like he's trying to cover up a crime. Should I be laughing, Ned?"

"Yes!" he cried in exasperation, throwing his arms into the air before letting them fall to his sides. "Normally you would find this hysterical! I just don't understand why she bothers you so much."

Even as she jerked like he'd slapped her, as his brain was telling him he was too stupid to speak, Ned could couldn't bring himself to take it back. Because when she glared at him, clearly trying to formulate a comeback, he saw something in her eyes that strengthened his resolve.

He was right. And she knew it.

She  _was_  supposed to find this funny; when some gawky blonde with a grass-stained cheerleading outfit had tried to worm a date out of him, Sally had found it impossible to keep from giggling and joking about it. That had only been a month or so ago. She'd always struck him as unflappable, calm and amused at any circumstance and confident that he wouldn't want anyone else. Something was wrong here, and he had no idea what.

"You know what? Fine. Go hang out with her. Make out with her if you want. I won't care, because why would I? I'll just be at my house, finding this all so  _very_  funny. Goodnight."

Ned didn't bother to chase after her this time. He just hoped that she would talk to Sarah. Sarah was always helpful at times like these.

In fact. . . . He sprinted in the opposite direction, not stopping until he got home. Mimi was reaching for the phone, no doubt planning to call Ryan again. He almost knocked it out of her hand, punching the numbers without so much as an apology.

"Ned! What the heck's your problem? I —" She stopped when he held his hand up.

"Sarah?" he said. "I need you to go to Sally's house. There's a problem."

"When should I get there?" One of the things he loved about her was that she always seemed to understand when to demand explanations.

"Now."

She hesitated. "Relationship-breaker?"

He closed his eyes, for the first time feeling the full weight of the issue, which had come out of nowhere and escalated too quickly. "I hope not."

"I'll be there. She just called me, anyway."

Ned thanked her, said goodbye, and hung up. There were tears in his eyes, and Mimi saved her manners lecture for another time. She put her hand on his shoulder. "Wanna talk about it, big brother?" she said with a weak smile.

"Nah, I'm fine," he said, swinging down from the stool they kept next to the phone. "Just gonna go for a walk." As he was about to leave, Mimi added, "You know, in the long run this is going to seem like pretty small potatoes." He nodded, muttered a quick thank-you, and left, thinking that Mimi might be wrong.

As far as he could tell, these potatoes couldn't get any bigger.

* * *

"I just don't understand why it's Jamie." Sarah was reclining in Sally's window-seat, playing with a couple of toy ponies Sally's sisters, Natalie and Nicole, had left behind. "I mean, you're not a jealous person. Like, ever."

"I didn't think I was, either." Sally was sprawled on the floor, her hair covering her face. She stared up at the waning sunlight through a curtain of red. "But . . . they dated. They  _kissed_. She's not some girl — she was his first girlfriend."

"So?" Sarah leaned down and hauled Sally into a sitting position. "Ned liked her a little. He never loved her, and that he told me himself. He loves you, and you're an idiot." She pursed her lips and peered at Sally. "You're not . . . well, is it a bad time of the month for you?"

Sally blushed. It was, but she didn't appreciate it being brought up. "I can't help it, Sarah. She just . . . I feel like she's trying to take him away."

"You mean, like you did?" She sighed. "I love you two so much, but can you blame her for maybe not being over him yet? Would you be?"

Sally didn't have the heart to reply to that. Besides, Sarah knew the answer. "But I want her to leave him alone."

"I know. But I guess what this really comes down to is, do you trust Ned?" Sally shrugged. "Come on, Sal! We both know him better than that."

"But he seemed so guilty and nervous today!"

"He's neurotic. What are you going to do about it?"

Sally sat there for a long time, then laid back down with her hair over her face again. The dying sunlight made strands of her hair light up like they were on fire. Jamie was prettier than her, Sally knew. She understood clothes and colors and hair products that made her look perfect. She was also a little crazy, but that wasn't exactly an advantage Sally had over her. The events of this afternoon had certainly proved that Sally had at least as much crazy in her.

Jamie had a hold over Ned. She was an ex-girlfriend, and there was a definite bond there; there probably always would be. And Ned felt guilty for how they'd ended, so that meant he'd try extra hard not to hurt her feelings, which might be why he'd sometimes seem overly solicitous to her. To another guy it could look like flirting, but Ned wasn't like that. He never had been.

 _"What is it about her?"_  That question hadn't really been directed at Ned at all, because there was nothing special to him about Jamie. It was all Sally's issue. And he loved her despite that — despite the events of this afternoon, if she was lucky and moved quickly.

"It's funny," she muttered, climbing to her feet. "Why do some things seem so confusing one minute and then so obvious the next?"

"Welcome to the wacky world we live in," Sarah said with a smile. She watched as her friend puttered around, grabbing shoes and a shawl. "I'll just let myself out, then?"

Sally threw her friend an apologetic smile. "If you wouldn't mind. And —"

"Don't bother. You're already welcome." She stood and gave her friend a quick one-armed hug. "Now hurry. I think he's freaking out."

She forced herself to stick to a brisk walk. There was no use showing up at his house if she didn't have enough breath to explain herself. So, despite the adrenaline thrumming up and down her legs, she kept a steady pace until she reached the end of his street.

When she saw the red-and-blue lights in front of his house, she broke into a run.

* * *

Ned was in Who Park, as usual. There really didn't seem to be a better place to sit and mope. He watched the sun sink into the trees and listened to the animals rustle around just out of his sight. He didn't know why Sally had been so jealous of Jamie, but he knew that he had to prove to her that it was ridiculous. He'd liked Jamie, sure, but there had never been any contest. He'd been waiting for her to like him for over ten years now, and there was nothing that could take him away from her now.

He'd heard the sounds of sirens and ignored them. Something was going wrong in Whoville, and the unthinkable idea should have given him pause. However, he couldn't bring himself to care, not when he had his head so full of moping.

When Sally came crashing through the trees, he stared at her for a long time without comprehending what he was looking at. She was doubled over, flushed and sweating, her breath coming out in pants and gasps. He realized that she must have been looking for him and leapt to his feet. "Sal, listen, I never meant to make you think that I didn't love you or anything. Jamie really did just want to talk, and I don't like her like that, and I don't think I ever could. I —"

"I don't care about any of that!" Sally cried as soon as she had her voice back.

He suddenly noticed the panic in her eyes and the way she was shaking. "What is it, Sal?"

What she said next made their petty relationship problems seem like very tiny potatoes indeed.

"Ned, there's been an accident." She looked up at him with tears running down her face. "Your dad's been hurt. I think . . . I don't think he's going to be okay."


	14. Mayor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wasn't a perfect father, but he was a damn good mayor. And Ned's not sure he can ever measure up.

**Mayor**  
  
 _"Dad?"  
  
Philip McDodd wasn't the kind of man who had a lot of time for anything that wasn't related to the council or the city. However, he glanced down at his son (Mimi, who was hovering behind Ned, was only afforded the quickest of looks) and allowed himself the luxury of a brief, but genuine, smile. "Ned, I don't have much time. What is it?"  
  
Ned was filled with the all-consuming panic that comes from being asked a question under the pressure of brevity. His mind went blank. "I . . . I wanted to ask you something," he stammered.  
  
His father looked confused and a little impatient. "What?" he asked. There was just enough of an edge to his voice to make Ned pale, and his stammering to get worse. His mother slipped into the room and saw the terrorized boy. She opened her mouth to yell before realizing what that would do to Ned. Instead she glared at her husband and raised her eyebrows. _Remember what we talked about, _she mouthed. Philip sighed and said, "Son? There's no pressure. Feel free to say whatever you'd like."  
  
"It's just that . . . we wanted to see if maybe you'd like to . . . to come . . ."  
  
Mimi saw that he was struggling and stepped in. "Father, we're both in a school production, and we know that you have a lot to do, but if you could take the time to come see us, here is an invitation." She pressed it into his hand before he could say anything and strode out of the room with all the authority an eight-year-old could muster.  
  
Ned stared up at his father. "We'd love it if you could make it," he said weakly, trying to imitate Mimi's flawless authority and failing. He turned and padded out of the room and pressed himself against the closed bedroom door.  
  
"That's one strong girl," Philip said approvingly. "She'd make a great mayor. Did you see that eloquence? That power? And that compassion! Saving that poor boy's ass when he couldn't string two words together!"  
  
"That's no way to talk about your son," his mother said reprovingly.  
  
"Seriously, Carol, why do you bother?" He began shuffling papers and moving around, getting ready for bed. "Ned's a nice enough boy, but he's too nervous to make a good mayor. If only she'd been born a few minutes earlier."  
  
"If you think she's so _great"  _— his mother spat the word — "then why do you treat her like garbage all the time?"_  
  
He sounded puzzled. "She's not going to be mayor, is she?"  
  
"Will you tell me the exact point of having eighty-five children — no mean feat, I'd like you to bear in mind — if you only cared about the first one?"  
  
"Two reasons, Carol. One, it's tradition for the mayor to have many children. And second, it's insurance. What if Ned were to die before having a child? Who would carrry on the line but the next oldest sibling? Besides, it's not exactly a silly concept, with his clumsiness."  
  
Ned had heard enough. He pushed off the wall and hurried into his bedroom. When Mimi grinned at him, saying, "Not so bad, huh, big brother? He might show up!" Ned shoved her to the floor and burst into tears.  
  
No matter how much his sister asked, he wouldn't tell her what was wrong.

* * *

Ned's father hadn't always been like that. In fact, it would be unfair to say that he was even  _often_  like that. Most of the time, Philip McDodd was a loving if busy man who cared for all his children, with Ned as his favorite. Though he'd rarely been cruel to Ned's siblings, like Carol had sometimes believed, there was an almost imperceptible coolness towards them, one that made them uncomfortable.  
  
With Ned, however, there had been nothing but warmth — to his face, at least. Ned's father had been a good man with the best intentions, and though all of his children harbored some resentment for the man, they still retained a good relationship with him. However, moments like the one Ned had listened to outside his parents' door had filled him with a wariness that ran deep and the desperation to please his father. Still, he had years to become the kind of man and mayor his father wanted him to be. There was nothing to worry about. He was just a kid. Why should a kid have to care about mayoral duties?  
  
As he looked down at the thin, waxy body on the hospital bed, the gravity of the situation hit him. Not that his father was dying; that was a concept far too huge to even begin considering in all its magnitude. No, what Ned was realizing was that it didn't matter that he hadn't become the kind of mayor his father had wanted, that the town had wanted.  
  
He was now Mayor Ned McDodd, high-school junior and leader of an entire city.  
  
"He doesn't look so bad," he said in a strangled voice, turning to his mother. She was collapsed in a chair by the hospital bed. It was actually true. The doctors had fixed him up wonderfully once they knew it was too late. "How did it happen?"  
  
Mrs. McDodd sniffled, looking up from her husband's face. "I don't really know," she said. "I was inside, and it was so fast. I think . . . I heard it was a trolley of some sort. It didn't stick around."  
  
 _Well, of course not,_  Ned thought.  _To stay and account for what they'd done would imply that something went wrong, and that just doesn't happen in Whoville, now does it?_  "Can he talk, or is he . . . ?"  
  
"He has a few hours, the nurse said. He shouldn't be woken up, but I know that he'd want to speak to you."  
  
Ned took a deep breath and looked down at his father. He'd always thought that his dad was so huge, so capable of everything, and it was hard to reconcile that image with this tiny man. He knew that he was stealing this thought from some book or movie — it was probably one of those cliches that gets passed around the world several times over — but it was true. There was something about life that made one seem bigger, somehow. And the absence of life ( _not quite,_  Ned forced himself to think,  _he's not gone yet_ ) shrivels up the body, like a juice box that has had all the liquid sucked out. The box is still a box, but smaller at the same time.  
  
His father was a juice box. And according to his mom, it was his job to suck the last dregs of juice out of him and hope that they were still good. A thought flashed through his mind:  _Should we really do this?_  It was followed by a far more terrible one:  _Do I even_ want _to do this?_  
  
"Mom? I don't know if this is a good idea."  
  
She stared at him, her eyes hollow and sunken in her ash-blonde face, and shook her husband's shoulder. "Phil?" she said. "The nurses say you aren't in a coma, so wake up and say goodbye to your son. You can't leave us just yet." Her voice was more tender than Ned had ever heard it, and the sound of it made his throat clog with tears. He took a deep breath to calm himself and waited for his father's eyes to open.  
  
They didn't.  
  
His mother looked at him expectantly, and he took his father's hand. "Listen, Dad," he said, "I'm gonna miss you. And . . . I'll do my best. To be mayor. I . . . I won't let you down."  
  
Philip McDodd's eyes never opened — the nurse said he wouldn't have had the strength for that — but he managed to say, in a voice strained with effort and thick with fluids Ned refused to think about, "Good luck."  
  
Later, Ned would turn to Mimi and say, "Isn't that just like Dad? Practical to the last." Later he'd tell Patrick and Sarah that it was stupid, but that he'd kind of hoped for something a little more affectionate. Later he'd tell Sally that he didn't think his father knew what the words "I love you" meant; he'd always been more interested in getting results, and assumed that love went without saying.  
  
Later he would forgive his father for his practicality, even love him for it. In that moment, however, it was all he could do not to burst into furious, heartbroken tears or slug the corpse in the face. With difficulty, he kissed his mother's cheek, patted his father's cooling hand, and left the hospital room with his back straight and his eyes dry.

* * *

 _"Ned! Come over here and give me a hand, will you?"  
  
At the sound of his father's voice, Ned sprang into action, leaping down from the kitchen table and sprinting through the open door of the garage. Philip was squatting on the floor, staring at one of the wheels of the unicycle he rode to work. "Yes, Dad?"  
  
"I need you to look at this, son," he said, stepping back and letting Ned wriggle into the space between the unicycle and his father's legs. "What do you make of this wheel?"  
  
"It's cracked." That was a bit of an understatement; the wheel was almost split in half.  
  
"Yes. Some idiot left a marble on the road. Almost threw me halfway across the street." Phil knelt down next to his son and looked him straight in the eye. There was no condescension in his voice, no superiority. "We don't have any new wheels, so somehow I have to patch this thing up. What do you think I should do? Frankly, I'm puzzled."  
  
Ned knew, fourteen years old and wilier than his father gave him credit for sometimes, that that wasn't true. His father was never at a loss for anything, so there had to be a learning experience in here somewhere. "I don't know, Dad. I'm no inventor." His father just stared at him, an expression of vague confusion mixed with just a tinge of disappointment. It was an expression that worked very well on the members of the town council, to guilt or pressure them into doing what he wanted. It was a face Ned would have to learn someday. Right now, however, it only served to make him feel angry and embarrassed. "Why would I ever need to learn how to invent some sort of wheel-fixer, anyway? The mayor's office is in walking distance, so what does it matter? Being mayor has nothing to do with inventing!"  
  
His father leaned towards him, not thrown off at all by the tantrum. "That's the thing, Ned. Inventing is _exactly _like being mayor." He sat back and gestured to the wheel. "Pretend that this isn't a cracked wheel. It's a . . . it's a library in desperate need of repair." There; that got him to listen. Philip continued, quite proud of himself. "It's also a Whoville landmark. But this derelict old building could be torn down and made a . . ." He thought of what Ned would hate more than anything else. "A gymnasium. We don't need another gym, and we really need this library, but with it in such bad condition, it's against the law to keep it up. What do you do?"  
  
"That's easy," Ned said. "Hire some people to fix it up."  
  
"You don't have the money. The council's already over budget and can't afford to give you a dime."  
  
He sighed. This wasn't as easy and fun as he'd thought. For the first time he questioned his ability to handle this job. "Well, can I start some sort of fundraiser? Sell baked goods or something?"  
  
Philip smiled, though it was brief. It was obvious that he'd expected his son to come to this conclusion. "Sure. Let's say you scraped up enough money to buy some supplies, but no labor."  
  
"Are people in Whoville really that cheap?"  
  
"They're not cheap, son. But there's only so much interest in this library, and only so much money to go around." He crossed his arms over his chest. "What now?"  
  
"I don't know! I don't know how to fix anything!"  
  
"Come on. What are you good at that no one in this family can match? You have to think about what you can do and how you can use it. What's your strength?"  
  
"I . . . I can read," he said, thinking _Fat lot of good that'll do. _His father didn't reply, looking at him expectantly. Then it hit him. "I could read up on basic construction," he offered. It took all of his energy not to turn that statement into a question.  
  
Philip beamed. His verbal praise, however, was scant. "Not bad. And?"  
  
"Could I get a few volunteers? And maybe ask my family to help?"  
  
"A brilliant idea. Children are free labor — that's why mayors have so many." He winked, and though Ned knew that his father was _mostly _joking, he was still a little uneasy. "See? Being Mayor is like being an inventor or a mechanic. You have to make sure the entire town is running the way it should, and come up with creative ways to solve problems. It's not all smiling for the camera and riding the giant meatball." He stood, cracking his back. "Now, what about this wheel?"_  
  
Ned smiled, scrambling to his feet. "I'll run to the library."

* * *

"So you're gonna be mayor, huh?"  
  
"I guess so." Ned leaned back against Sally, running his fingers through the fine, soft fur on the skirt of her black dress. "It's all happening so fast. You know I get inaugurated in twenty minutes? Well, make my acceptance speech-slash-eulogy. Apparently all the niceties are smoothed over with a few signed documents." And now he was babbling.  
  
"I know, Ned," she said, and kissed his cheek. "I'll be there for you, you know. And not just today. I'll take care of your siblings and stuff for you." She squeezed him tight around the waist. "Besides, my mom was bugging me to get a job after school. Maybe I can help you out. Be a secretary or something."  
  
"Thank you, Sal. But you have to let go or I'm going to throw up."  
  
She did, brushing his shaggy brown hair out of his face. "You'll be okay, Ned," she said, smiling at him.  
  
Her smile, so sympathetic and warm, made him feel a little like crying again, so he looked away. "We should help the others get ready," he said, gesturing to his bedroom door, through which he could hear sobs intermingled with the customary shrieks and giggles of children getting ready. Not all of them were old enough to understand exactly what was going on, but everyone felt the mood — melancholy and terrified.  
  
 _They're scared for me,_ Ned realized. _Because I'm too young to be mayor._  
  
The door flew open and Carol stuck her head in. "Ned, we have to go." Her eyes were red and puffy, but otherwise she looked far more put-together than he felt.  
  
Sally adjusted his tie, brushed at his hair again, and kissed him. "I'll be right there," she whispered. "I love you." He tried to say he loved her, too, but the words got caught in his throat. She understood, though, and squeezed his hand. "Good luck."

* * *

As stipulated by tradition, the mayoral inauguration doubled as a funeral, an event almost all of Whoville attended. The ceremony itself wasn't very exciting, with a man warbling about what an excellent man Philip McDodd had been, how much everyone was going to miss him, and how the town was indebted to him. Ned let his mind wander, staring at the purple-and-orange casket (painted in his father's fur colors; again, tradition won over common sense) and the large picture next to it. It was their entire family squeezed into the football bleachers at the high school. Philip had his arm around Carol's waist and was beaming with a football helmet under his arm. It had been taken only a year ago, at their annual game.  
  
 _"It's the McDodd Family Fall Football Extravaganza! What's not to love about it?"  
  
"Phil, not all the kids_ enjoy _football."  
  
He looked around their colossal breakfast table. "Really? They don't?"  
  
Everyone had jumped in at that point, clamoring that yes, they really did like football, that they were excited to go on the outing, that they would get ready right now if he wanted. Ned was one of the loudest voices, even though everyone in the family knew that he hated all sports. However, it was one of the rare occasions where his father didn't think about work for the whole day, and no one wanted to miss out on that. Besides, years of mayoral duty had taught Philip how to be compassionate and fair to everyone, and he made sure that even those too young or not eager to play still had fun. And afterwards they all had ice cream.  
  
Ned would withstand hours of football torture to spend time with his dad, and he knew all his siblings felt the same.  
  
Carol sighed, throwing her dishtowel into the sink. "Fine," she said, exasperated. She hated football more than anyone else in the family. "I have a headache, so I'll stay here."  
  
"No, honey! You have to come! We'll pick up some aspirin and tea, how about? You can be the ref! Just please say you'll come!" Mr. McDodd's wheedling and good-natured ribbing finally won Carol over, as all the children had known it would. That was the mark of a good mayor, Ned knew. He could make anyone feel wanted, and as such get them to do whatever he needed them to. It was manipulative, but lovingly so._  
  
Ned glanced at his mother, who was slumped in one of those folding-chairs with her face buried in her hands. He could never be his father. What was the point in trying?  
  
"Ned," Sally hissed, elbowing him in the side, "you have to get up there and make your speech!"  
  
"Oh. Okay." Using her shoulder to steady him, he stood and climbed up the steep, narrow steps to the podium. All of Whoville was spread out in front of him, a sea of multicolored heads over black bodes. He took a deep breath, suddenly having no idea what to say. This was the first time he'd speak in front of both Whoville and the town council; he had to impress them.  
  
Sally was sitting between Mimi and Halsey, his oldest sisters. The three of them had their fingers laced together so that they formed a small human chain. On Mimi's other side was his mother, who hadn't looked up from her cupped hands yet, even to see her own son become mayor. He swallowed his disappointment and anger, glancing instead at Mrs. O'Malley, who was behind Sally with the rest of the family. She smiled and mouthed,  _Good luck, kiddo_ and flashed him a thumbs-up.  
  
"Good people of Whoville, we have just experienced a very tra —" He swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut. "A very tragic loss in Philip McDodd, my father. He was extremely capable and very loving. He has left behind a city that is better for him having been in it, and worse now that he is gone." His littlest siblings were getting antsy, and he wished that his mother would do something to keep them from whispering amongst themselves. She still hadn't looked up, however, and the task fell to Mimi and Halsey. He turned his eyes away from his siblings and towards the people of Whoville, and realized something terrifying: They were exactly like his little brothers and sisters.  
  
Mayor Philip McDodd's primary job was to stop the squalling, quarreling children of their city — keep them entertained, keep them quiet, make sure they were all fed, bathed and put to bed each and every day. And now that was Ned's job.  
  
In a bizarre way, he was now the father of a thousand-something people, many of whom were older than him.  
  
"Mayor McDodd?" one of the councilmen asked, his voice sympathetic with undertones of impatience. Ned realized that he'd been silent for almost twenty seconds. Normally this would have mortified him, brought him close to tears, even, but compared to the events of the last few days a little humiliation was nothing. Besides, he had a much greater realization with which to focus on.  
  
"I'm not sure I can do this."  
  
The councilman nodded. "It is quite a trying experience, sir. We understand."  
  
Ned shook his head, feeling like his soul had come untethered and was floating around his body, getting in the way of his thoughts. "No, I don't know if I can be your mayor," he said, addressing the people of Whoville at large.  
  
There was silence. No one ever said that they couldn't be mayor.  _"Ned, you have to act confident at all times, but especially in your inauguration speech. It doesn't matter if you're a quivering bunch of fear inside, as long as it stays inside. People need confident leaders. It's hard, but I did it, and your grandmother before me." Philip smiled, hinting that he had once been as frightened as Ned was without admitting as much. Another clever trick. "Just pretend that you have it all under control. Go in with a lot of bluster and bravado and they'll follow you to the ends of the earth. And that's the way it has to be when you're mayor, so act like the kind of leader they need you to be."_  
  
"I promise to do my best, however, and I promise to learn. I can't guarantee that I'll be a good mayor, but . . ." But what? He'd told the truth, and he honestly didn't have a "but" to follow that up with. Sally's hands were over her mouth and her eyes were wide; she had listened to many of Phil's mayoral speeches, and she knew how huge a mistake this was. Even his mother had taken her head out of her hands, and for that alone he was glad. For her, and Sally, and all of Whoville, he had to come up with a "but," even if it was pure fabrication. "I can guarantee that I will be the most hardworking mayor that Whoville has ever seen. Thank you." He climbed down from the stage to stunned silence and slipped out of the room without anyone's objections.  
  
When he made it into the lobby, he slumped against the nearest wall and slid down it with his hands over his face. He heard the soft footsteps but didn't look up. Sally sat down next to him, putting her arms around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder.  
  
"That was quite the start." Ned hadn't expected anyone else to escape the ceremony with Sally, and jerked his head out of his hands. Patrick and Sarah were standing above him, and Mimi was hovering a few feet away. Patrick flopped down in front of him, mimicking the voice of a television-show host. "So you've terrified the citizens of Whoville into believing that they are being led into the apocalypse by an awkward little kid. What are you gonna do next, Mr. Mayor?"  
  
"Patrick!" Sarah scolded, pinching his arm.  
  
Ned surprised them all. "Well, Pat," he said, adopting the same hammy voice, "I plan on leading the good citizens of Whoville into the apocalypse. Also, playing some board games."  
  
The girls were staring at the two of them like they'd both gone insane. Patrick just laughed and punched Ned's arm. "Wanna get out of here?" he asked, allowing just a hint of sympathy enter his voice.  
  
"You have no idea." Patrick hauled Ned to his feet, forcing Sally to let go of Ned's torso. She settled for holding his hand, squeezing it every few minutes for comfort. Patrick and Sarah began quibbling over where exactly they should go. When Mimi meekly offered heading over to the high school and getting ice cream (it  _was_  almost autumn, after all), everyone agreed after shooting tentative looks at Ned — the McDodd Family Fall Football Extravaganza was well-known around Whoville.  
  
"You okay, Mister Mayor?" Patrick asked, pronouncing it  _Meestah May-ar._  
  
"What the heck kind of accent was that?" Sarah demanded. An argument seemed about to erupt again before Mimi jerked her head in her brother's direction.  
  
"I'm fine," he said. "Thanks, guys." His throat was getting tight again, and he wondered if he was about to cry for the millionth time in the past three days. "I really needed to . . . to . . ."  
  
"Thanks nothing," Sarah said, rolling her eyes at him.  _"You're_  paying." As she and Patrick immediately burst into furious and amusing debate over whether the dogs across the street were fighting or mating, Mimi slipped her hand into Ned's free one, smiling up at him. "You'll be fine, big brother," she whispered. "I wouldn't let you set foot in that office if you weren't."  
  
He nodded, training his gaze to the sun, which was high and hot in the sky now.  
  
"What are you thinking?" Sally asked. She had meant for her voice to be low, but everyone heard and turned around.  
  
"I was thinking . . ." He smiled. "With you guys making sure I'm okay, I'll either be the best mayor in the history of the world . . . or I'll destroy Whoville."  
  
There was a beat of silence as they all stared at each other. "I vote for the first one," Sally said.  
  
Ned kissed the tip of her nose, provoking a loud chorus of  _"Ewwww"_ s from the assembled party. "Me too."


	15. Can Life Get Back to Normal, Please?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned had known being mayor would be difficult — especially when he was still in high school.
> 
> He just hadn't known it would be impossible.

**Can Life Get Back to Normal, Please?**  
  
The phone rang.  
  
Ned lifted his head off the desk and stared at it in horror. In the past five minutes he'd had three calls from various council members, all of whom had decided to remind him that there was a meeting today at six o'clock ("on the dot"); two from people who were upset with a tree on someone's property that kept dropping Boozleberries all over the place, which were making someone's dog sick; and one call from his mother, who'd told him that Councilman Birch and his son would be coming over for dinner. The last thing he needed was another painful conversation.  
  
He picked it up and tried to make his voice sound somewhat cheery. "This is Ned." He slapped his forehead. "I mean this is Mayor Ned McDodd! What — what do you need?"  
  
"Chill, it's just me." The voice was Sarah. Ned nearly collapsed with relief.  
  
"Thank you so much for not being someone who needs my help."  
  
Sarah laughed nervously. "Yeah. Though I don't really have the best news."  
  
Ned's stomach dropped. "The Whostory test?"  
  
"I don't really want to tell you," she said. He was silent, crossing his fingers and waiting for her to spit it out. When she didn't say anything he finally snapped, "What, do you want me to guess or something?"  
  
"That could be fun."  
  
He rolled his eyes. He was the only mayor in the history of Whoville who couldn't get even a single person to listen to him. Still, this was Sarah, and it wasn't her fault that he was stressed out of his mind. "Is it passing?" There was silence on the other end of the line. "Is it close to passing?"  
  
There was a gentle knock on his father's huge oak office door —  _his_  huge oak office door; he'd have to remember that now — and Sally poked her head in. "You have a visitor," she said, in her cool "secretary" voice that he would have loved to listen to under different circumstances. Ned held up one finger and she ducked out again.  
  
"It's a 47," Sarah said.  
  
He felt the blood drain out of his face. That was the worst grade he'd gotten in any class since . . . since ever. And in Whostory! Whostory was his favorite class! How could this have happened? "Did Mr. Snorri tell you what that did to my average?"  
  
"He wrote it on a piece of paper and made me promise not to look. . . . Maybe it's not so awful."  
  
"Am I passing, Sarah?"  
  
There was the sound of rustling paper. "Yes!"  
  
His heart leapt. "By how much?"  
  
She hesitated, then said, "Half a point."  
  
Ned watched a flock of polka-dotted birds fly past his window. As he stared, one of them crashed into a telephone pole just outside and float down to the snow with a dazed look in its eyes. The symbolism was not lost on him. "What do I do?" he asked, not expecting an answer from the other end of the line.  
  
Then again, he'd underestimated Sarah. "Well, I talked to Mr. Snorri, and he doesn't usually give extra credit but he understands what's going on, so he gave me all this stuff. He said it'll raise your grade to a C if you do it all."  
  
A C. Ned had never even come close to a C before; the very idea made him feel sick. And yet . . . he thought of all those hours of sleep he'd lose doing that work. It was almost enough to make him decide not to bother, until he thought of that 47. Not bad, considering he hadn't studied, or even read the chapter that the test had been on. "Thanks, Sarah."  
  
"I'll drop it off at your house, okay?"  
  
There was another know on the door, louder and more insistent. "Ne — Mayor McDodd?" Sally called. "Are you ready yet?"  
  
"Listen, Miss . . ." There was a pause as, Ned assumed, the man read her name tag. ". . . O'Malley, part of your job is to help the mayor prioritize. I understand that this is new for you, but you cannot be afraid to take the initiative."  
  
Dropping the phone, Ned closed his eyes and steepled his hands together, pressing the tips of his fingers against each other until they turned white.  _Don't do it, Sal,_  he thought. He knew that she was _dying_  to yell at whoever had dared to make such a comment.  _Please don't_. "Thank you very much, sir," she said. "I will take that into consideration." She tapped on Ned's door again. "Mayor McDodd? Councilman Birch is here. I'm sending him in."  
  
"Ah, well . . ." Ned glanced at the phone. It was silent; apparently Sarah had said goodbye and hung up without him realizing it. Oops. "Okay, come in," he said, placing the phone in its cradle.  
  
Randall Birch, the city's head councilman, strode in as soon as the words had left his mouth. Declining Ned's invitation to sit down, he hovered in the center of the room with his hands folded in front of him. "Mister Mayor, have you taken a look at this?" he asked, taking out a letter and sliding it across a desk far too large for Ned. It was about the stupid Boozleberry tree — a formal complaint. "This shall be the main issue at tonight's meeting. The Council will be eager to see what solutions you will have to offer."  
  
"Is this all?" Ned said, looking down at it. "I mean, is this the extent of what goes wrong in Whoville?"  
  
The councilman looked scandalized. "Mister Mayor! This is far from wrong. This is simply one of the many mundane-yet-essential tasks that we as peacekeepers are required to manage." He smiled, and Ned noticed how white Birch's teeth were; they were as bright — and somehow as dusty — as the surface of the moon. They looked too old to be in his mouth, like years of smiling for the townspeople and his father wore down on the dentition.  
  
"Yes, Councilman Birch. And I'm sorry for the wait — I was just —"  
  
"Talking about schoolwork with your friend. Sarah, right?" His smile both widened and softened at Ned's astonished expression. "Those impressive doors  _look_ soundproof, I know, but they're thinner than they appear." After giving the new mayor time to realize the full implications of that remark, he added, "I'm not upset that you were discussing matters unrelated to your mayoral duties. I understand completely."  
  
Ned doubted that. Birch had come into his position of power when he was twenty-three, just out of the city's top whocademy and ready for the secure, cushy job that his father's retirement had just left vacant. And with the retired councilman leaving him a glowing recommendation, there was no chance that he could have lost the Council election. He had no idea what it felt like to spend four months sliding toward F's in all of his classes; unlike his son, Tom, Randall had never skimmed his heels lower than a B+ in his entire life. He had never had to balance a full-time job he was unprepared for with schoolwork; he had graduated school with a full understanding of what his job would require as well as how to do it. And as an only child, Councilman Birch hadn't enjoyed the daily experience of trying to get eighty-five children ready for school without the help of a mother who was almost catatonic with grief.  
  
No, Mr. Randall Birch didn't understand a thing. But he claimed that he did, and it kept Ned out of being reprimanded, so he couldn't complain. "Thank you for your sympathy," he said. "Now, I should get to thinking about this. Unless you have anything else to say?"  
  
The councilman seemed surprised. "No, Mister Mayor. I will see you this evening at the meeting. Six o'clock."  
  
"I know. Thank you." Once Birch had left, Ned reached for the letter. As he did, the phone rang.  
  
It was all he could do not to smash his head on the desk.

* * *

Ned made it out of the conference room around eight o'clock, his head spinning. He'd come up with a solution to the tree problem, but the council had rejected it on some technicality. While Mr. Birch had patted his shoulder after the meeting and congratulated him on the "interesting" idea, Ned had still ducked into the bathroom for ten minutes to avoid having to see any of the men on his walk home. It was bad enough that he'd have to face his new best friend, Councilman Birch, for a late dinner.  
  
He hadn't expected Sally to wait for him, but she was sitting on the bench across from the entrance to the town hall, shivering in the snow. "How did it go?" she asked, slipping under his arm for some warmth.  
  
"Not great. I'm sure not my dad — the Council made that  _very_  clear."  
  
"You'll be a great mayor," she said. "You told me so when we were little." He laughed, but the sound lacked its usual boundless optimism. "You'd make him proud, Ned."  
  
He looked down at her, raising his eyebrows. "Proud? He told my mom that he wished Mimi had been born first because she'd make a better mayor, I couldn't hack it. I guess he'd be proud that he was right."  
  
Sally was silent; she wanted to argue with him, tell him that of course he would be every bit as good as his father and the other "great" leader of Whoville, but she knew that it was hopeless. Besides, there was something more pressing in his tone. She stopped walking, forcing him to come to a halt, and they sat down on a nearby bench. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, snuggling against his side.  
  
"Talk about what?"  
  
"Your dad. I know you miss him."  
  
He stood almost as soon as he'd sat down, leaving her alone in the cold air. "I don't have time to think about this," he said. "I have to get to dinner, and there's this extra credit stuff that Sarah dropped off for me. . . ."  
  
"Ned —"  
  
"Sal." He turned to her, and she was relieved that his smile was genuine. "Thank you for caring so much, and when I have ten minutes to feel bad about the fact that my father's . . . you'll be the first to know, okay?" He took her hand in his and began walking her home. "I just have too much to do right now."  
  
Sally sighed. That would have to be good enough.

* * *

Dinner was excruciating. Councilman Birch sat at his mother's side, and they seemed to be having an intense argument. It was one of the few times she had shown any sign of life in months, and Ned couldn't help but wonder what they were talking about. However, with the din of his siblings he couldn't catch a single word.  
  
Tom was sitting next to him, and Ned could hear  _him_ just fine. Unfortunately. "So how is it being mayor, McLoser? My dad says that you can't get anything right."  
  
Apparently Tom was the kind of guy who held a grudge. Also not the kind of guy who came up with new nicknames. "Well, thanks, Tom," he said wearily. "That is absolutely what I wanted to hear."  
  
"He says that if Sally wasn't there to hold your hand, you'd be messing up even worse. Why she bothers trying to babysit you, I'll never know." He leaned back in his chair, confident that this dig had cut Ned to the quick.  
  
It had, but rather than undermining his confidence, it just made him angry. "Still upset about the Sally thing, huh, Tom? Why exactly do you care so much? So one girl rejected you, big deal. There have to be plenty of girls who'd be able to tolerate your incredible stupidity enough to date you." Mimi overheard this and shot Ned a confused glance. He knew that his behavior had shocked her, but he was too preoccupied with everything he still had left to do that evening to care about niceties.  
  
Tom rolled his eyes and turned away, but Ned saw enough in his expression to know that he was right. It only took one girl to crush an ego, as Ned knew very well. And if his touchy-feely guidance counselor was to be believed, bullies had the most fragile egos of them all. "Whatever," he muttered, half to Ned and half to himself. "I've got a wicked hot girlfriend." He glanced up at Ned. "Cassandra. I'll bet  _you_  remember her."  
  
He flushed. Speaking of girls who'd rejected him. . . . Would he never live down the tie-dye incident? Tom smirked and went back to his meal, believing he had won. Ned decided to let it go. Normally he would want to understand why Tom was such a jerk, figure out the motivation behind the rudeness. But he didn't have the energy. Tom and Cassandra — and who could forget Sherry? — could literally have no other joy in life than making him miserable, or they could have deep psychological scars that forced them to lash out. Knowing whether it was one or the other wouldn't help him pass math or be a good mayor. It just wasn't worth his time.  
  
"Um, kids? I have something to tell you. If you could just . . ." The voice was Ned's mother, and even though she was standing, she couldn't command the table's attention. Before his father had died, Carol McDodd had had a voice that could level forests, one only their father could beat. Now she could hardly be heard three seats away. The councilman had stood as well, and was looking over the children with helpless bafflement.  
  
Ned leaned over to Mimi and shouted, "Mom wants to talk. Pass it on." It was the preferred method of communication for the McDodd children, and soon the room fell silent. Birch turned to Ned, obviously impressed, and a snatch of his father's voice came back to him: _"Being mayor is a lot like being a father. You have to know how to communicate with people, understand what they need, and above all, you have to love them like you would your own children."_  Ned himself had considered something similar at his inauguration, but instead of being overwhelming as it had been that day, this knowledge was now reassuring. He wasn't a father, but he knew how to take care of children. If he didn't have classes to deal with, anyway.  
  
Mrs. McDodd and Mr. Birch glanced at each other, and when it was apparent that the former wasn't going to speak, he stepped in. "I am very pleased to announce that your mother and I are to be married. I —" It was obvious that he had a long speech prepared, but no one was willing to hear it; he should have saved the big news for the end. As the family's outrage grew louder, Ned stood to leave.  
  
"Where are you going?" Mimi demanded.  
  
"I have homework to do."  
  
She stared at him incredulously. "Are you  _serious?"_  she asked, her voice rising to a shriek.  
  
"I don't have time to . . ." He sighed. "I have to go," he said, leaving before she could reply.  
  
He passed the phone on the way to his bedroom and he hesitated. More than anything, he wished he could call Sally and talk about what had just happened, allow himself to be furious about it. Maybe he could even give himself permission to grieve his father's death for a few minutes.  
  
But right next to the phone was a pile of papers — the work Sarah had dropped off. He sighed and took the packet.  
  
He'd talk to Sally later.

* * *

"Guys, I don't know what to do! He's failing his classes, he can't concentrate on being a good mayor  _because_  he's failing his classes, and he's so stressed out that he can't even be upset about it all!"  
  
"Well, what are we supposed to do, Sal?" Patrick asked, looking up from the paper he was writing. "Short of doing his homework for him, I'm at a loss."  
  
"I just _know_  this can't be legal. Or constitutional. Or . . . something," Sally mused. "Do you think the library's still open?"  
  
"Nope," Sarah, who worked there some afternoons, said. "I closed it up right before I came over."  
  
"I doubt they'd have anything good," Patrick added. "The whocademy libraries would have what you're looking for, since there are a lot of students majoring in Whostory. And they'd still be open, I think."  
  
Sarah shook her head. "Nuh-uh. My bother's at Whoville Whoniversity, and no one's allowed on campus after eleven o'clock unless they're a student. I'll bet the others are the same." She laughed and said, "Besides, it's getting late. Like out parents would — Sal?" Sally had climbed to her feet and went over to her closet with no apparent hurry. She slipped inside and shut the door. "You don't think she's going to break into the school, do you?"  
  
Before Patrick could answer, Sally had emerged, wearing a skimpy black dress and high heels. "Veronica left behind a bunch of her old stuff when she graduated," she said by way of explanation, piling her hair on top of her head. After studying herself in the mirror, she snatched up a few books and held them against her chest. "Think this'll work?" she asked.  
  
"You know that's not what college girls actually dress like, right?" Patrick said. He leaned over to Sarah and muttered, "Though Ned would have an aneurism if he saw her now."  
  
"Actually, it's usually a bunch of college guys who check the student ID's," Sarah said, her face lighting up. "That might be the way to go."  
  
"I thought you didn't like this idea!" he said, watching as she dove into Sally's closet in search of an outfit.  
  
"That was before I thought it could work. Listen, Patrick" — she stuck her head out — "you won't be able to get in unless you can look like a girl, so you'll have to sit this one out."  
  
It was clear that he agreed and wasn't happy with it. "I don't think your sister would be thrilled if she knew that you were stealing her clothes," he said. "And even less so if I were to wear them. Besides, my parents will kill me if I don't get home before midnight, so I'd better . . . whoa." Sarah stepped out of the closet in a denim miniskirt and a pink tank top.  
  
"Sal, your sister's kinda trashy," she said, twirling around so that her skirt floated up. Patrick had to look away. "What were you saying?" she asked him.  
  
"N-nothing. I should, you know, go." He turned to Sally. "Don't let her do anything . . . well, irresponsible."  
  
Sarah laughed and rolled her eyes — now that the plan had a chance of working, she was giddy with it — but Sally's smile was empathetic. "I will," she said softly. "Don't worry about a thing."

* * *

"So where's the library?" Sally whispered, glancing at the dark campus.  
  
Sarah shrugged. "I only came here once with my brother, and he isn't exactly the biggest fan of libraries."  
  
She stared at her friend. "So we don't even know where we're going?" she demanded. "What are we here for, then?"  
  
"Relax. We can just ask someone for directions," Sarah said.  
  
"What kind of college students would we be if we didn't know where the library was?"  
  
"We'd be like half the kids here. Now shut up, those are the guys who check people." She strode up and beamed at the nearest of the boys. "Hi!" she said cheerfully as Sally huddled in the background. "You probably don't remember me, but we're in a class together." She scrunched her forehead in the least convincing expression of concentration Sally had ever seen. "Which one was it, again? It has that old guy with the armpit stains who talks really slow . . . I sit in the back, so you probably wouldn't —"  
  
"You're both in high school, aren't you?" he interrupted, leaning against the wall with a smirk.  
  
Sally sighed, her shoulders slumping. "Yeah," she muttered, and turned to walk away. His hand on her shoulder stopped her.  
  
"I won't tell if you won't." He winked and stood by to let them pass. As they walked away, he called, "There's a party down at the Ronaldson building. That where you're headed?"  
  
They exchanged glances, then turned to him with matching smiles. "Sure!" Sarah replied.  
  
"I'll see you there." He switched his attention to another pair of girls who were approaching, and Sally said, "Hey, do you know where the library is?"  
  
He looked confused, but recovered enough to point to their left.  
  
They ran before he could ask any more questions.

* * *

Sally hurried down the aisles of the library, her fingers skimming over the spines as she passed. " _History of Whoville, Whoville in Under One Thousand Pages, The Whoville Constitution_  — ah! Here it is." She pulled the thick book off the shelf, staggering under its weight, and dropped it onto the table. "You don't think it has an index, do you?" she asked, looking down at what had to be two thousand pages, easy.  
  
Sarah took it from her and flipped it to the back. "Nope," she said. "There's like ten other copies, though," she said, pulling one down. "And it's only 11:45. We've got plenty of time."  
  
Sally groaned and began reading.

* * *

Unbeknownst to the children, Randall Birch had stayed over at the McDodd home several times between Patrick's death and the announcement of his marriage to Carol, but they'd both decided that it would be best if he and Tom went home as soon as the dinner was over. She said it was because the children would need time to adjust, but the councilman suspected it was so that none of them would try to kill him in his sleep. So he had hurried home around nine in the evening and tried to imagine what it would be like being married for the first time in five years.  
  
He prided himself on being the first person in Whoville to wake every morning, and so he was up at four-thirty in the morning. This meant that he was awake to realize that there was at least one person who had been up before him, and he was able to personally greet her when she showed up at his house two hours after he'd risen. "Councilman Birch?" she asked. She was holding a gargantuan book in her arms. "May I talk to you?"  
  
He stepped aside, letting her come in. "What is this about, Miss . . . O'Malley?" He hoped that he'd gotten her name right.  
  
"Well," she said, setting the book on his kitchen table; he noted that it was  _The Whoville Constitution (1459; ed. 1943)_ , "I would like to give you my formal resignation. I am far too young to handle the responsibilities working for the city requires, and frankly, I don't think I'm qualified to do so."  
  
Randall was taken back, but he nodded. "I understand completely, Miss," he said, deciding to eschew the last name for both their sakes, "and I accept your resignation." When she didn't move to leave, he added, "Is there anything else I can do for you?"  
  
"Actually, yes. According to the most recent edition of the Whoville Constitution," she thumped the heavy tome for emphasis, "it is against the law for anyone under the age of eighteen to occupy a job in the city of Whoville."  
  
He had a suspicion of where she was heading. "Yes, of course."  
  
"This includes the mayor, Ned McDodd."  
  
He snorted. "That's absurd! The previous mayor is deceased. Of course Ned would take over! There is no other option!"  
  
"As a matter of fact, there is." She flipped open to a page in the book and read, "According to the city's constitution, 'if the Mayor's eldest child is not of an age appropriate to take over as Acting Mayor  _(amend. eighteen years),_  or is otherwise unfit for office (i.e., a want of proper education, a debilitating physical or psychological condition, or any other issue deemed as such by the Council's popular vote)' . . ."  
  
Randall had forgotten how long-winded the constitution was. It was something he should have been aware of, but he hadn't read it since college. He'd always meant to give it another glance, but had unfailingly found himself too busy. "Yes?" he snapped.  
  
"I was just making sure you understood it," she said mildly. "Anyway, 'any other issue deemed as such by the Council's popular vote), then the Council will act as temporary Acting Mayor until such a time when the child is able to enter office, which will be decided by the Mayor himself, accompanied with other formal documents signed by professionals as needed (i.e., for a debilitating condition' . . . I think that's all you'd be interested in." She placed her hands flat on the table, looking into his eyes with an expression that was surprisingly firm. "I think it's obvious that Ned is not only an inappropriate age, but he lacks the education necessary to become mayor of Whoville. In fact, these past four months, you've all been breaking the law. You should have been acting mayor until he completes his high school — or even college — degree."  
  
Damn. Randall was definitely regretting not giving those laws a skim. In fact, no one in the council had bothered to look up the rules for this situation. Why would they, though? No one knew the law better than they did, and they'd forgotten how much they didn't know. "You definitely have a point," he said, trying to sound like he had the entire situation under control. "We will have an emergency meeting as soon as possible to discuss this predicament."  
  
"And the verdict will be?"  
  
"Well, it's not certain, but given this evidence, the most likely decision will be to do exactly as the constitution states: we will take over as chief executive until Ned graduates high school."  
  
Her eyes narrowed. "What about college?"  
  
He shrugged. "If Ned wants to study at a whocademy, he will have to negotiate it with the council at a later time." He smiled at her and added, "But as permission has always been granted in the past, I'm sure that he will have no problem pursuing whatever level of schooling he desires."  
  
Sally managed a weak grimace that was related to a smile; now that her mission was accomplished, she was exhausted. She made it home without incident, but there was one thing she had to do before she told her mom she was too sick to go to school.  
  
Ned's voice was groggy when he answered the phone. "Yeah?"  
  
"Ned, it's me. Did I wake you up?"  
  
"Uh . . ." She could hear the rustling of papers, and assumed he'd fallen asleep doing homework again. "I guess so."  
  
"Listen, I gotta get to bed, but can you promise me one thing?" He made a weak affirmative grunt. "Go to prom with me."  
  
"What?" He sounded marginally more awake. "Sal, with everything that's going on —"  
  
"Go to work as soon as school ends, and then come over and see me. We'll talk, okay?"  
  
"You're not making sense. We both have to work today!"  
  
"I love you, Ned. Goodnight." She hung up the phone as quietly as she could, and then fell asleep with her uncomfortable black dress still on.


	16. Return of the Guy and Girl Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For once, Ned and Sally aren't the center of the drama! But it turns out they're not exactly the greatest meddlers.

**Return of the Guy and Girl Talk**  
  
"Look at them."  
  
None of Sarah's friends replied to her statement. They were all lost in their own thoughts, which ran the gamut from glum to miserable. Sarah sighed and carried on as though nothing had happened — which, in fact, it hadn't. She gestured once again at the lunch table next to them, where Jamie and her friends were chattering about the upcoming school dance. She added, "Sitting there like normal high-schoolers, completely oblivious to the dark truth of the world." She leaned in conspiratorially. "Know what that truth is?"  
  
"That they're grounded for sneaking off to the Whoniversity all night?" Sally asked.  
  
"That the girl of their dreams will never love them back?" Patrick suggested, staring out the window with his chin in his hand.  
  
"That their mother pulled a Queen Gertrude and married some guy less than six months after their father died, and that their new 'brother' is their most hated enemy?" When Ned said this, Sally put her arm around his shoulders, her own troubles forgotten.  
  
"No," Sarah said. "That nothing goes with purple!" She threw her arms in the air. "Look at this! Can't wear red! Can't wear blue! Can't wear pink, or green, or orange, or anything! All these normal-looking Whos in their nice colors can have any type of dress they want —"  
  
"Not me," Ned interrupted.  
  
Sarah ignored him again; she was getting quite good at sidestepping her friends' impossible moods. "I will have to wear something that looks hideous because of my stupid, stupid color. And nobody cares! What shall I do with my life now?"  
  
If her plan had been to drag them out of their gloom, it worked. Sally pointed at a cheerleader a few tables away. "Trish is purple," she said. "You won't be alone, at least."  
  
Sarah rolled her eyes. "Trish is  _lavender,_  Sal. Lavender's not the same as purple."  
  
"Actually," Ned said, "it is. It's a shade of purple."  
  
Sally turned to him, nodding. "I definitely thought it was in the purple family. Like a cousin something."  
  
"No, closer than that. It'd be Purple's weird Siamese twin."  
  
"Whatever!" Sarah exclaimed, though she couldn't quite hide a smile. "The point is that lavender is much prettier than purple, and I will have nothing to wear to prom."  
  
"So wear nothing," Sally said.  
  
Ned smirked. "You'll be a hit."  
  
Patrick, who alone was still mired in unhappy thoughts, looked up with wide eyes as soon as the words registered. "You can't do that!" he said. ". . . Can you?"  
  
"Fine, fine, make jokes," Sarah said. "It's no big deal for you" — she jerked her chin at Ned and Sally — "you guys have each other. Patrick and I . . ." She paused for dramatic effect, "have no one."  
  
Something Sally's eyes brightened. It was a light only Patrick noticed, and he stared at her in horror. "Why don't you two go together?" she asked, gesturing at Patrick and Sally with her fork. "I mean, if you both have no one to go with."  
  
"As friends?" She glanced at him thoughtfully. "I don't know. I was hoping for something a little more . . . well, romantic. No offense," she added hastily.  
  
He shrugged, looking depressed again. "None taken."  
  
"But then again . . . oh, all right." Sarah turned to him, holding out her hand. "If neither of us have a date by prom, we'll go together. Deal?"  
  
He looked at her outstretched hand and hesitated, his expression a mix of disappointment and happiness. After a moment he shook it, his smile wan. "Deal."

* * *

"She's going to find someone else."  
  
Sally knelt down and straightened a piece of wood that was slowly being fed through a saw. "What makes you say that?" she asked absently. She wished she had more attention to spare for Patrick's problem, but the giant rotating blades near her fingers were a higher priority. That was what he got for striking up a conversation of this sort in woodshop.  
  
He set the drill he was holding on the table (Sally was relieved that he hadn't turned it on yet) and ticked the reasons off on his fingers: "She's beautiful, she's smart, she's funny, and she's purple. Ignore whatever she thinks, guys like purple girls." He sat down. "I can't exactly compete with your average Joe Who, can I?"  
  
Sally took off her goggles and flicked off the saw. "Of course you can," she said, giving him a one-armed hug. "You're clever and cuddly." She'd hoped that he would laugh at the alliteration, but he just sighed. She stood and pulled the goggles over her eyes, then held her hand out to him. "Come on. We can talk while we work, but this chair won't build itself."

* * *

"Have you talked to Sarah?"  
  
Ned raised his eyebrow at Sally. "Yes, Sal. In fact, I introduced you to her in sixth grade, remember?"  
  
She laughed and nudged him with her shoulder. "I meant since lunch, you doof."  
  
He shook his head. "We don't have any classes together," he said, "and since they don't walk home with us . . ." He gestured at the surrounding neighborhood as they walked, to indicate the lack of Sarah or Patrick.  
  
Sally was too busy thinking to be amused. "Okay, so I'll be the one to talk to her. You can deal with Pat. But this is a tricky situation, so we'll have to be very careful . . ."  
  
He stared at her. "What the heck are you talking about?"  
  
She paused mid-babble. "Oh right," she said with an embarrassed laugh. "Let's just say that we're finally not the ones with romantic problems."

* * *

"You're not going to say anything stupid, are you?"  
  
Ned laughed, turning to Sally. "You're lucky you're cute, Sal, because the personality isn't so —" He was interrupted as she grabbed him by the shoulders and kissed him. The suddenness and intensity of it made his head spin, but he gave her a goofy smile as she pulled away. "That's not going to make me talk any smarter," he said.  
  
She smiled and gave him a final peck. "I can live with it," she replied, and pushed him into the classroom. "Remember, talk. Not stupid."  
  
"Not stupid," he repeated, crossing the room and sliding into the chair next to Patrick. He studied his current project — a painting of a stapler with devil horns, flames, and an evil face — with exaggerated nonchalance. "So you're going to prom with Sarah," he said.  
  
Patrick froze, his brush dripping paint on the floor. He collected himself, though his face was still red. "Yes, unless one of us finds someone else."  
  
"Uh-huh." Ned took his friend's brush and patted at the edges of the painting with it. "And who are you thinking of asking?"  
  
Patrick shrugged, his affected look spoiled by the fact that he was chewing on his lip. "No one, really. I mean, it wouldn't really be fair to Sarah if I ditched her, would it? Besides, these kinds of things need to be spontaneous, not ruined by forthought or complicated by —"  
  
"You like her."  
  
To Ned's surprise, Patrick's expression quickly changed from surprise to amusement, and he chuckled to himself. "I knew she'd tell you," he said, shaking his head.  
  
"Well, she needed my help to — wait." Ned glared at him. "You mean you don't think I could've figured it out on my own?"  
  
His friend snatched the paintbrush back as the teacher approached and whispered, "Ned, you're a lot of things. But 'perceptive' and 'observant' are not among them."  
  
"Aren't those synonyms?" he asked.  
  
"No. Wait . . ." He shrugged. "I think you're right. Anyway, it doesn't matter."  
  
Ned stared at him in shock. "How could it not matter? And of course I'm right!"  
  
"It doesn't matter because it's never going to happen. Sarah, I mean. She doesn't think of me that way."  
  
"She could, though," Ned said, leaning forward eagerly. "Sally didn't like me, either. Not until I told her and she gave the idea a chance. It's not one of those things girls think about their friends, I guess." He dismissed the notion with a flippant shrug and added, "Besides, prom? Most romantic night ever. You'll be dressed up, and there'll be music and dinner —"  
  
"And you and Sally," Patrick interrupted.  
  
"Like a double date. A  _fancy_  double date. Wouldn't it be a good time to talk to her about it?"  
  
He shrugged, but Ned could tell that he liked the idea. "I guess," he said. "If she doesn't decide to go with someone else, that is."  
  
"Don't worry," Ned replied, leaning back with a smile. "Sally's working on that right now."

* * *

"So . . . Patrick."  
  
"Yes?" Sarah looked up from the Whostory textbook they were supposed to be reading from.  
  
"Prom."  
  
She looked confused. "We're going, yeah," she said.  
  
Sally took out a sheet of paper and began to doodle on it with careful nonchalance. "Unless you find someone better."  
  
"Actually, no."  
  
Her head jerked up at this proclamation. Could things really turn out so well so easily? "What do you mean?" she asked, trying to keep her excitement from showing.  
  
A hint of it must have been visible, however, because Sarah sighed. "I knew this would happen," she muttered.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You think that I'm going to prom with Patrick because I like him. Listen, Sal." She glanced up at the front of the room to make sure the teacher wasn't looking. "I know you want everything to work out like it did for you and Ned. It's cute and all, but Pat and I aren't like that. I used to like him, sure, but that was last year."  
  
Sally remembered something along those lines, but she'd been too caught up in the Ned-Jamie drama to give it much thought. Her cheeks flushed with guilt.  
  
Sarah continued, choosing not to notice. "I got over it. And I'm going with Patrick as a friend. Nothing more."  
  
_But why can't it be more?_  she wailed silently. But she knew that bringing this up could reveal more than she wanted. "So why not find someone else?" she asked.  
  
"Because prom is so much harder for guys. Like if I couldn't get a date, I could go by myself, or maybe with Kira." Kira was Cassandra's sister, and surprisingly a friend of both Sally and Sarah. She didn't eat lunch with them, as she had a mild aversion to boys, but she was always friendly (albeit in a cool, almost imperious way). "Guys are different. They need a date or it's just lame. And even if Patrick could go alone without looking like a loser, he wouldn't. You know he's only going because we'll all be there. I can't ditch him."  
  
Sally was struck by her selflessness, though she still didn't fully understand. "Why does this matter so much, though?" she asked. "I mean, Pat hasn't gone to any dances so far, and it hasn't been a big deal."  
  
"But we're  _juniors,_  Sal. There's only so many times that we'll get to be together before we graduate. So I want us all to hang out as much as possible until then. And I know" — she said, seeing Sally open her mouth to argue — "that Whoville's a small town that barely anyone ever leaves, so we'll probably see each other all the time after school, but we might not. Even if we do, it won't be the same. We'll be old. We'll have separate lives."  
  
"This is depressing." She tried to be glib, but she couldn't help but feel a little choked up.  
  
Sarah shrugged, looking down. "It's true." She laughed and leaned back. "Besides, we only have a year of having life be predictable and quasi-uncomplicated. Why ruin that with moping around all by our lonesomes?"  
  
Sally grinned and pretended to study the textbook. Pulling out two pieces of gum, she said, "To one more year of silly teenage troubles?"  
  
"I'll chew to that."

* * *

"Nothing's resolved, then?"  
  
Sally paused, thinking the situation over. "Well, not quite. Patrick thinks that Sarah might someday have a crush on him and is planning on telling her about how he feels on or before prom. Sarah doesn't like him in that way  _at all,_  and I don't think she'll change her mind. So we probably made everything much, much worse. And now I'm bummed out because our lives are only a year away from chaos and depression."  
  
Ned looked confused. "Why are you so cheerful, then?"  
  
"Because this is all high school. We have to enjoy these petty dramas for as long as we can, before all the grown-up troubles hit us." She leaned back with a contented sigh, staring up at the cloudy sky.  
  
He gave her an admiring smile. "Sarah really gave you some perspective, huh?"  
  
"Maybe," Sally said with a shrug. "At the very least it's a new think to be thunk." She winked and hauled herself to her feet. "And — oh! I have to meet Sarah at the mall in ten minutes! And I have to pick out a dress!" Her face paled at this and she added, "Oh, what if they're all out? Or what if they look hideous on me, or the sales clerks are mean, or —"  
  
"What happened to 'this is all high school drama'? I thought none of this stuff mattered in the grand scheme of things!" Ned cried, appalled by her sudden change of mood as much as the hasty retreat she was beating to the park entrance.  
  
She paused long enough to give him a look of exasperation. "Of course not, but it matters  _now."_  
  
With that, she was gone.  
  
He slumped to the ground, picking at the grass. "Hard to argue with that."


	17. Prepping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the most important night in a teenager's life. Or something.

**Prepping**

"Have you seen the remote?"

"TV? How can you think about TV at a time like this? Ned needs our help!"

"Why did he decide to wear blue? I hate blue!"

"He has to match Sally's dress . . ."

"Hey,  _I'm_  blue!"

"GIVE THAT BACK!  _MOM_!"

Ned groaned as the voices outside his bedroom grew louder. He'd locked the door, but somehow he didn't think that would hold his well-meaning — but incredibly irritating — sisters for long. He slipped under the bed. "Can you hear that?" he said.

"Hear it?" Patrick sounded faint and tinny over the phone. "I think that last shriek broke through my eardrum. Sally isn't there to help?"

He laughed. "Please, Pat. She and Sarah haven't spoken to me for hours. I don't plan on seeing her until tonight."

"I tried calling her house, but Sarah just said they were 'prepping' and hung up." He sighed and added, "So far, prom seems like a lot of work."

Ned agreed, but before he could say anything the door splintered. "Gotta go, Pat. Good luck." He threw away the phone and hunkered down amongst the dust bunnies under his bed as the door shattered and a wave of girls swarmed over the room, shouting his name and digging amongst the splinters to find his clothes.

"Don't worry," Sally had said to him, before disappearing to do girly things with Sarah. "Getting dressed is the hard part. After that it's all eating and dancing."

 _I sure hope so,_ he thought, cringing as the bed was lifted into the air by twenty furry hands and he was dragged from his hiding place.  _After this, all I have to worry about is eating and . . . dancing._

Dancing.

Oh, he was doomed.

* * *

Sarah had had a rough day. First, she had woken up and realized that her dress was the worst possible color for her fur. Black? She was going to look like a mourner or a nun! Sure, the dress wasn't the most modest, but now that she thought about it, scoop-necks went out of style last year, and the new fad was V-necks! How could she have been so stupid as to forget that? And if the catastrophe of her dress wasn't enough, there was the issue of her hair, which refused to be straight. It would never be straight. It  _could_  never be straight. And without straight hair, she would absolutely die.

For a girl who was so smart and bookish most of the time, Sally noted as she listened to her friend's endless litany of prom woes, Sarah cared a lot about fashion and appearances. Not that it was unusual for a teenage girl; it just sometimes made her remember long afternoons with Sherry, where the discussions revolved around lipstick colors and romantic acts highly inappropriate for sixth graders.

"But it's okay, because I have a solution!" Sarah said, hooking several elastic bands around her fingers and twisting Sally's hair into an updo in record time. "I will steal your dress and make you wear something agonizingly hideous — like  _my_ dress — so that I will look halfway-decent by comparison."

Sally laughed, causing her hair to unravel and Sarah to shout obscenities. Who was she kidding? Even at her most superficial and melodramatic, Sarah was still one of the most fun people she had the pleasure of knowing. Besides, the girl could do a mean . . . curly bun thing, or whatever this hairstyle was called. "Fat chance," she said, climbing gingerly to her feet and climbing into her prom dress. "I love this thing." It was absolutely perfect, a blue so dark it was almost black, with a V-neck (hence Sarah's jealousy) that was coated in silver sparkles all the way down to her waist. At first she had been terrified of how shiny it was, but once she'd gotten it off of the bright-yellow mannequin, it had grown on her. "Here's hoping it grows on Ned, too," she muttered, allowing Sarah to zip up the back.

"Here's hoping mine doesn't make everyone in the vicinity vomit all over their dates." Sally rolled her eyes. Though slightly less sparkly than her own, Sarah's dress was fine, and unworthy of all the abuse being heaped upon it. All she had to worry about was not falling over; the combination of a mermaid skirt and high heels might be too much for her.

It was a few minutes before she realized that they had nothing else to do. Nothing, that was, except go downstairs and wait for Ned and Patrick to arrive. In fact, for all she knew, they already had. She turned to Sarah, her eyes wide with panic. Her friend reached over and squeezed her hand, her smile nervous but comforting. "Come on," she said with a laugh. "Ned's already crazy in love with you. You don't have to impress anyone tonight."

 _Neither do you,_ she thought with a small smile. She was confident that this was the night that Patrick and Sarah got their act together and fell in love already. Enough of this on-again, off-again nonsense; she'd done it, and it was  _not_  fun. "You ready?" she asked, checking herself over again and taking a deep breath.

"No," she moaned. "I look so —"

Sally clapped a hand over Sarah's mouth and dragged her downstairs.


	18. Prom Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sally has a question for Ned.

**Prom Part I**

"So, Ned," Sally said casually, "how long have we been dating?"

They were sitting at a small table in the corner of the gymnasium-turned-ballroom. The table was supposed to seat six people, but Patrick and Sarah were attempting to dance (with hilarious results), and no one had decided to take the last two seats. They weren't social pariahs anymore, but their little foursome still wasn't the cool place to be. Ned had been sitting with his head in one hand, staring at her most of the evening. It had made it kind of difficult to eat, in fact. Never before had she cared so much about not spilling her food.

He shook his head to clear it, tapping his lips as he thought. "Two years? That can't be right. . . ." He pondered for a moment, then shrugged. "No, that seems correct. At least one, anyway."

"And we've known each other for . . ."

"Eleven." He sat back, stunned. "Eleven. That's crazy."

She nodded, pressing her lips together as she tried to work up the courage to say what she wanted to. Though she was sixteen years old and her older sister, Veronica, had spent hours educating her on the birds and the bees, usually through offhand and somewhat sexist remarks — "Now, Sal, if a guy wants to get to second base, make sure he's either rich, or the captain of a sports team. Otherwise it's totally not worth it. Ta!" — she knew that Ned was far more innocent, and she didn't want to terrify him. Instead of speaking, she reached over and put her hand on his thigh, holding her breath for his reaction.

Of course, he didn't get it. "Hi!" he said cheerfully, putting his hand over hers. "Wanna get one of those little smoothie things?"

And just like that, she lost her courage. "Sure," she replied with a sigh, climbing to her feet and letting him lead her over to the drink table.

If she had to rely on her clueless boyfriend to pick up on her hints, it was going to be a very long night.

* * *

Patrick wasn't having any more luck, though his objective was a little different than Sally's. "How's your night?" he asked Sarah, hoping she couldn't tell that he was starting to sweat. Why couldn't people go to prom in jeans and T-shirts? It would be more fun for everyone.

But then again, Sarah would look beautiful in anything, sure, but the dress was  _really_  pretty. He'd suffer the stifling suit for her.

"It's been so much fun!" she said, trying to look everywhere at once. "Oh my gosh, it's Kira! Hi, Kira!"

One thing he'd learned about prom was that its main purpose was for girls to talk to and about other girls. That was all Sarah had done since she'd arrived, and what most of the others were doing as well.

And yet, there was one other purpose to prom. He glanced over Sarah's shoulder and saw Ned walk by with Sally, gesturing with a small smoothie cup with one hand, his other on the small of her back. They made it back to their table and she pointed toward the bathroom, giving him a kiss before disappearing into the colored gaggle of dresses and tuxes.

Patrick could do that, he was positive. If someone would give him the chance, he could get smoothie cups and kiss and be a pretty awesome boyfriend. He'd even try to learn how to dance. If only . . .

Kira finally broke through the crowd of dancers and managed a nod at Patrick before turning to her friend. "Have you been having an enjoyable evening?" she shouted over the thudding bass that never seemed to change, no matter what song was playing.

"It's the best!" And like that, they were off, talking about things that he would never understand, and didn't care to. He decided that he had to involve himself in the conversation if Sarah was ever going to notice him.

"So, Kira, are you here with anyone?" As soon as he asked the question, Patrick knew that this was a horrible thing to say.  _Please have a date, please have a date, please get over your irritation with the male species and have brought someone so I don't look like an insensitive idiot._

Kira smirked. "I do have a date," she said, "but she had a friend she needed to talk to."

Sarah elbowed him, reminding him to close his mouth. "Who is it?" she asked. "Do we know her?"

"Oh, I think you do."

* * *

"Hi, Ned."

"Hmm?" He had been in the process of creating a tower out of empty smoothie cup, straws, and silverware, but at the familiar voice he turned. "Jamie! Um . . . hi."

She smiled. "Wanna dance?"

"I . . ." He glanced at the bathroom, where there was no sign of Sally. "I guess."

"Great!" She took his hand and led him out on the dance floor. The song was a screeching, fast-paced monstrosity, but they settled into a half-slow-dance, half-tango that didn't fit the beat at all, but allowed them to talk without being too intimate. As they spun, Jamie said, "I know you just want to be left alone, and I'm sorry I keep showing up. I just feel so guilty about everything that's happened, and I want to make it up to you somehow. I want you guys to not hate me, you know?"

"What? We don't hate you at all!" Well, that was true as far as he knew of. He knew that Sally didn't love his ex, but  _hatred_  was such a strong word. . . .

"Besides, I need to thank you."

That gave him pause. "For what?" he asked.

She laughed and looked down at their feet, which were stumbling inelegantly all over the dance floor. "Well, after we broke up, I was kind of going through a very anti-boy phase, and if I hadn't been so angry at you, I never would've met Kira." She took a hand off his shoulder and gestured to where she was waiting by the coats. "So I guess I owe that to you and Sally."

"Oh?" It was nice that Jamie had made such a good friend; he'd been worried about her, all things considered. "I'm very happy for you, Jame."

"Thanks." Her eyes widened as she spotted something over his shoulder. "Uh-oh."

"Can I cut in?" Sally said, stepping into Ned's line of vision before he could ask what was wrong.

Jamie let go of Ned like he was on fire. "Of course!" she said, biting her lip nervously. She had never seen Sally blow up about her, but their previous encounters had been icy at best. "H-how are you?"

"Great!" To both of their surprise, Sally was all warmth — and it was genuine. "I was actually wondering if you and Kira wanted to sit at our table with us. We have two seats free."

Jamie blinked, clearly taken aback. "Um, sure! That'd be great! Janet and her date Jack had to sit at another table, and they've been giving us the silent treatment all night . . ." She turned and hurried away, leaving Ned and Sally standing awkwardly on the dance floor.

Ned stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned back. "So . . ."

She stepped closer and put her arms around his neck. "Wanna dance?" she asked.

He gulped. This was when she was going to explode. That was their formula: Jamie showed up for some reason or another, Sally overreacted, and then they made up. Still, he hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her to him, hoping that the music would slow down. Maybe he could make this dance romantic and defuse the fight before it began. However, she was quiet as they spun in a slow circle, and the pressure was killing him. "Why'd you ask her to sit with us?" he finally asked. "I thought you didn't like her around."

She chuckled. "You're kidding, right?" When his expression was blank, she turned them so that he was facing their table, where Kira and Jamie sat . . . _kissing_.

Had he had water, he would've spat it out at that moment. "W-what?" he spluttered. "They . . . she . . . how?" A horrible thought occurred to him and his face paled. "Did  _I_  cause this? Do I turn people . . ."

Sally laughed again, shaking her head. "I doubt it, Ned. You're too cute to turn girls off." She snuggled closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. After a moment she said, "Though there was something I wanted to talk to you about. I just . . . I don't know how to say it."

Oh no. This was bad. This was very, very bad. Sally could not have picked a worse moment to break up with him. Of all the times they'd had leading up to _this_  night,  _this_  moment, there were countless better opportunities. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening.

As it turned out, it wasn't happening. Before Ned could blurt out something desperate, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and said, "I love you. And I think . . . I'm ready."

Unless that meant "I'm ready to break up with you," this wasn't a bad thing. However, it still took him a rather long time to figure out what she meant by that. When it clicked — and the voice in his head, which was usually quiet whenever Sally was around, made a sarcastic little " _ding!_ " noise as the realization dawned on him — his mouth dropped open. "Um . . . I . . .  _what_?"

She turned bright pink. "I know that was really clichéd, but I was just thinking — I mean, we've known each other for over ten years now, and everything's so romantic, and I love you. It just makes sense, you know?"

He didn't know. Did it? Was this a good idea? As future acting mayor, he was supposed to make good decisions. He was supposed to  _know_  what the good decisions were. On the one hand, it was Sally. He'd been in love with her since kindergarten, and he  _was_  a teenage boy; that part of his brain was screaming, "WHAT IN WHOVILLE ARE YOU WAITING FOR, YOU IDIOT?"

On the other hand.

He let his arms drop from her hips, pushing her away gently. "I-I can't," he said, looking at his. "I have to go talk to Patrick."

With that, he left her standing on the edge of the dance floor. He was gone before she could call after him.


	19. Prom Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned has an answer.

**Prom Part II**

"It's crazy. Tonight's been absolutely wonderful." Patrick sat down next to Sarah, handing her a little paper cup of water. "I can't believe you got me to go to this thing. I didn't want to at all."

"Sure you did." She threw back the water in one gulp, tearing little ridges into the rim of the cup when she was done. "You were just scared."

He watched her shred the paper, her brow furrowed as she concentrated on her task. "Yeah. I was terrified, in fact."  _Still am._  "But we're here, and it's been great. I can't believe the gym looks so nice. And I never thought I'd have a good time in here." He had to stop with the small talk; it wasn't building his courage any, and just made him sound like a blithering idiot. He took a deep breath. "Listen, Sarah, I —"

He was interrupted by the arrival of Erik Redson, a gawky pink kid with thick glasses and a charming smile. He was one of those strange geeks who was somehow equally popular with the cool kids and the losers, and seemed to like everyone the same. Patrick had never met anyone more likable, despite his girly color. "Hey, Pat!" he said warmly, shaking his hand like they were old friends, even though they'd only had a few conversations. He plopped into the chair on Sarah's other side. "How're you guys doing?"

Oh, great. He was here to chat. By the time he left, Patrick would have lost all his nerve! There had to be a way to get him out of there. . . .

"So, Sarah," Erik said, leaning back in the chair. "I have a favor to ask."

"Yeah?" she asked, and Patrick knew she would say yes. That was just the way Erik was.

He grinned, flipping a strand of hot-pink hair away from his face. "My girlfriend dumped me, like, a week before prom, and I didn't have time to find a date. And she brought some guy with her, and they've been staring at me all night. Is there any chance I could borrow you for a song? Just a short one?" He leaned back so that he could meet Patrick's gaze. "Wouldja mind if I stole her for a little while? I need to make Sherry crazy jealous."

"Are you kidding? We're just here as friends!" Sarah leapt to her feet, dragging Erik to his. "Besides, he hates Sherry almost as much as I do. Right, Pat?" There was nothing he could do but nod; she was too excited. As she passed him, she whispered, "I owe you one. If you see a cute girl, I promise I'll help you out, kay?"

"Okay," he whispered back, his heart sinking. "Thanks."

Erik clapped him on the shoulder, saying, "I'll see you around, huh? Maybe you and Ned and I can get pizza or something later this week."

"Sure." And the horrible thing was, he was looking forward to this potential pizza outing. Erik had stolen his date, made him look like a loser, and interrupted the most important conversation of Patrick's life, and all while still being the nicest guy in Whoville.

What a jerk.

* * *

Ned was trying to figure out where he could go and think when Sally's arm clamped down on his, yanking him almost off his feet. "What was that?" she demanded. "We're not even going to talk about it?"

He'd forgotten how fast she could run, even in heels. "I can't, Sal," he said, turning to face her.

She took his arm again, more gently this time, and pulled him out of the flow of traffic. Under the basketball hoops next to the locker room, they had at least an illusion of privacy. "Why not?"

"I . . ." He didn't know. All he knew was that every time he thought about saying yes, a picture of his dad would pop into his head, and he'd hear one of the former mayor's many pieces of advice.

_"Now, Ned," he would say, looking up at his son from his position under the sink as he repaired a leaking pipe, "you need to realize that as a mayor, all eyes are on you. You have Whoville on your shoulders, and every decision you make will affect everyone who lives here. The second that mayoral crest is passed from my hands to yours, you have to be mature and responsible. The world rests on your decisions, son."_

Philip McDodd wasn't the most forthcoming about romantic matters, but he knew that if he could ask his father what to do in this situation, the answer would be the same as it was to every question Ned had ever asked him. He would put down whatever he was working on (and he was always working on something), stare his son straight in the eye, and say, "I want you to think long and hard about that, and tell me what  _you_  think you should do." And if Ned supplied the right answer, Philip would give him a half-smile, pick up his work, and continue like their conversation had never happened. If he was wrong, he would get a stern lecture on mayoral duties and always thinking things through.

And in this case, what did he think his dad wanted to hear? "Sal, I love you. However, I have to make sure that every decision I make is a mature, responsible one. My father did not leave this job to me so that I could screw it up by being a dumb teenager. I need to live up to his legacy, and that means whatever I want has to be set aside."

She looked at him like he had two heads. "Ned, we're not talking about politics or legislature or Whoville-changing decisions. We're talking about our relationship. What does being a mayor have to do with us?"

He sighed. In his mind's eye, his father picked up the law he was reviewing and ignored him, a small smile on his face. The fact that Sally's had darkened with hurt and confusion was almost irrelevant in the knowledge that he had made his dad proud. "Being a mayor has to do with everything." He turned to head back to their table when she took his arm for the third time.

"Ned, wait." He did, surprised at how calm and confident he was. He was beginning to fill his dad's shoes, be the mayor he was supposed to be. She surveyed his impassive face and sighed. "Listen, I want to do whatever makes you happy," she said. "But impressing your dad and the council . . . that isn't what's really important. You know that, right?"

The Philip McDodd his brain had conjured up was setting aside his pen, his expression a little irritated. He knew that the answer this mental-father wanted to hear was something dismissive, something that put the job above everything else. But he couldn't say that to Sally because . . . well . . .

His confidence disappeared as the image of his dad did, leaving him just another teenage boy with sweaty palms and no idea what to do or say. "I need to talk to Patrick," he said, and for the second time left without giving her a chance to reply.

* * *

He found his friend sitting on a plastic bench that had been erected in the middle of the football field. It, along with several others and some strands of white lights, were meant to serve as a sort of garden for the prom-goers to use for some fresh air, and it was almost entirely deserted except for couples too engrossed in each other to notice anyone else. He sat down next to his glum friend without a word, and together they watched people dance and walk past the open gym doors. "Isn't that Sarah?" he asked as she whirled into their view, her arms wrapped around the neck of a bright pink Who in a pale gray tuxedo. "Is she with Erik Redson?"

"They've danced three songs together," Patrick said miserably. "I know she'll stop by to talk later, but I think this evening's kind of ruined for me." He turned to Ned with a small, forced smile. "What about you?"

He shook his head. "Not right now," he said. It made him feel better to talk about his friend's problems, and to think about something else. "You're not gonna tell her?"

It was a while before he answered, appraising the dance floor as "Billie Who" ended and "Mr. Whoboto" started up (Ned wondered if he was the only one getting sick of inserting "Who" into everything; he hoped that the fad would be over by the time his own children were teenagers). "No," he finally said, watching as Sarah entered their view again. She was laughing as Erik spun her around.

"What? Why not?"

"Look at her. She likes him a lot. She's never liked me like that, or if she did . . . well, it's over now. If I had a chance, I missed it." He kicked at a rock, scuffing up his dress shoe and causing dirt to settle on the legs of their pants.

In the building, Sarah spotted them. She tapped Erik's arm and pointed to where they were sitting. Before they could move more than a few steps, Patrick waved them away, his smile surprisingly convincing. Once they had returned to the dance floor, Ned said, "You didn't have to do that. You could still let her know how you feel."

"And ruin her night? That's not fair." He fell silent as a bunch of teenage girls shuffled by. They were making enough noise to hide his words, but they were too uncomfortable to talk until the girls had passed. "She's having a great night," he said, "and I want her to enjoy it. Telling her . . . it would just upset her, and I don't wanna do that. I'll do whatever she needs to make her happy, because when you think about it, nothing else really matters, you know?"

"Nothing else really matters," Ned repeated softly.  _"Ned, son, there's something really special about being mayor. Nothing else compares — not hobbies, not friends, nothing. It's the most important thing in your life, and you can't put anything or anyone else before it, no matter how much you want to."_

 _Dad,_ he thought, as the mental image of his father came back. He was sitting at his desk, like always, but this time Ned's mother was standing behind him with one of his little brothers in her arms. She was always waiting behind Philip, hoping that he would have a moment to spare so that he could give her a hand. But the city was always more important, and most of the time she had to figure everything out on her own.

That was when he realized that his father was wrong.  _Some things are more important than being mayor,_ he told his imaginary father. His dad shook his head and threw his arms in the air, but all Ned could see was Carol McDodd and her little baby. She had food in her hair and a tear in her dress, and she was dead-on-her-feet tired, and still Philip wouldn't turn around, because there was a piece of paper that had to be signed, a phone call to be taken, something that went wrong to be solved and then covered up, because nothing ever goes wrong in Whoville.

"But enough about me," Patrick said. "How are you and Sal?" His brow furrowed. "Where  _is_  she, anyway?"

"I don't know, Pat," he replied, climbing to his feet. "But I really need to find out."

* * *

"And then Jackie told me that she was going to try and find a  _teal_  dress! Could you imagine that? With her coloring? I'm so glad I talked her out of it —"

"Me too," Sally said, not really listening. She was hoping to catch Sarah's eye; she needed a little female interaction, and Jamie and Kira just weren't cutting it. She wasn't in the mood to listen to Jamie explain the minutiae of her life, nor could she stomach Kira's attempts to discuss books or film or other intellectual pursuits.

When she really needed her best friends, they were nowhere to be found.

"And have you seen what Sherry's wearing? I hear she's trying to make Erik jealous, but she should know that backless cheetah print was  _not_  the way to go — hi, Ned." Sally whirled around, unsure as to whether to be mad or relieved to see him.

"Sal, can we talk for a second?" His voice cracked on the last word, and he kept tugging at his tie and looking at the ground.

She nodded and waved goodbye to Kira and Jamie, who just looked at each other and smirked. Once they were far enough away from everyone else, she said, "Ned, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable —"

He held up a hand, and she noticed that it was trembling slightly. "No, I'm sorry. I was trying so hard to be the kind of mayor — well, the kind of person, really — that my dad would want me to be instead of thinking about what I want or what you want. I just panicked, I guess." Before she could do more than open her mouth to speak, he continued hastily, "A-and I've thought about it a lot while I was gone, and I . . . if you still want to, I'm ready, too."

For a second she could only stare at him in shock. Then she lunged forward and kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her fingers in the fur at the back of his head. When she pulled away, they were both panting for breath. "I love you, Ned McDodd," she whispered.

"I love you too, Sal." He looked a little dazed, but as she took his hand to pull him into one of the classrooms (they had been left locked, but some clever seniors had picked the locks of most of them earlier in the evening), he dug his heels into the ground. "Wait! I . . ." His face flushed dark red. "I don't know what I'm doing! I'll —"

She interrupted him with another kiss. "Does anyone know what they're doing?" she asked with a giggle. "We'll figure it out."

"We always do, I guess." Ned was looking at her with an expression that was part warmth and part something she couldn't quite define. Well, she could, but it was embarrassing to put into words.

Still, she winked at him and pulled open the door, knocking first to make sure it wasn't already occupied. "That's right," she said. An empty classroom wasn't exactly the romantic setting she had always pictured, but the time was right and the guy was right, and that was all that mattered. "We always do."


	20. Oops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well . . . that was unexpected.

**Oops**

"You're not serious."

Sally shrugged, looking down at her hands, which were folded in her lap. Her family had all gone to see her younger sisters' soccer game, so they had her house to themselves. It had been very important that they be alone. "I'm pretty positive, yeah," she said.

"How is this possible?"

She looked up, and Ned was surprised to see the ferocity in her expression, though her face was still pale and drawn. "Ned, you've never gotten less than a B in any class in your life. I think you know how babies are made."

He swallowed, his gaze darting around the room like a trapped bird. He had turned white, and started to tremble so badly that Sally was worried he was going to fall over. "I don't . . . this . . . I . . . I . . ."

Finally she couldn't take it anymore. Climbing to her feet, she crossed the room and put a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Ned," she said softly, knowing that she was lying but unable to stop herself. "Shh. Just . . . calm down, because it's all going to be okay."

" _No!_ " The vehemence in his voice startled her, and she did nothing as he shrugged out from under her hand. "This isn't  _right_. I'm supposed to be the mayor. The mayor is supposed to be mature and responsible." Running a hand through his sweaty hair so that it stuck up in all directions, he pointed at her stomach, which would not show a baby bump for another few months. "This is not mature and responsible!" The look on his face made her feel alien, like some monstrous beast that had hurt him and he didn't quite understand why. She felt a painful tightening in her chest and knew that she was about to cry unless she did something, got angry.

"Well, it's not my fault!" she shot back, wrapping her arms around her stomach. She wished there was a bump, something that made her feel less alone. Her lips pressed together in an attempt to keep herself in control, and she ducked her head so that her hair would shield her face from his accusing, wounded expression. "You did it, too," she mumbled.

Sally heard a sharp intake of breath. Peering through her bangs, she watched him sink onto the couch, his head in his hands. "I know it's not your fault," he replied, his voice slightly muffled by his palms. "I just can't think. This wasn't supposed to happen. My brothers always said . . . It was one time. How can we —" Unable to finish, he broke off into shallow breaths that were agonizing to listen to.

She slipped a hand under the hem of her shirt, running her fingers gently through the fur above her bellybutton. It felt warmer than usual, but that was her imagination. At least, she  _thought_  so. She didn't know anything about this, she was realizing with increasing terror. "Maybe it's not yours," she said.

His head shot up, his face damp with tears. His bloodshot eyes met hers, huge and appalled. "W-what?"

Oh, great. She was supposed to be the strong one, but when he started crying. . . . She turned to the window, resting her forehead against the cool glass. "You're right. You're going to be mayor, and you can't have something like this hanging over your head. Who knows what kind of hell this will make for you?" She took a deep breath, pushing aside all questions of what kind of hell it would make for  _her_. "I'm not the mayor. I'm not gonna be anything like that. So . . . I could tell people that I met someone else. That guy from somewhere north — Mr. G-something? — came by around the same time as prom. I could say that I hung out with him before he left." No one had liked his attitude, like he knew something that they hadn't. He'd said that his home was somewhere in a place called "Snowflake," and couldn't believe that no one in Whoville ever left their home. They'd be willing to believe anything about him, especially now that he had gone back to where he'd come from.

There was silence. She kept her eyes on the world outside her window, where the sun was just about to set and long purple shadows stretched across the front lawn. "You're not serious."

Despite herself, Sally had to smile a little. "You really have to stop repeating yourself," she said.

Ned's long arms wrapped around her waist before she knew he had gotten up, his chin resting heavily on the top of her head. "You would really do that?"

"Yeah, if you wanted me to. I love you, Ned."

"I love you, too, Sal." His arms tightened around her, pressing her more firmly against his lanky, awkward body. "You know, your parents are gonna freak out. My mom's gonna freak out. Our collective ninety siblings are gonna freak out. The council is going to skin me alive, and I don't even want to think about how the citizens of Whoville are going to react."

Sally chuckled nervously. "I hope this has a point," she replied, tilting her head back so that the curve of her head rested comfortably against the curve of his neck, and his chin was now on her forehead.

"None of that scares me half as much as thinking about how to tell Sarah that . . ." His fingers twitched, and she knew that he was trying to control the urge to start panicking again. "That we're going to have a kid."

"So we are?" She wriggled out of his grasp, turning so that her back was pressed against the window and she could see his expression. "Emphasis on  _we_?"

Ned's face was still the color of milk that was starting to go bad, his eyes were still red and watery, and his fur was sticking up with a combination of tears and nervous sweat, but he had managed a hesitant smile, and it was the same smile she had loved since the first time she saw it, on their first day of kindergarten. One shoulder lifted in a weak shrug. "Yeah, Sal. Of course."

She was pregnant, she was still in high school, and she was most likely going to be murdered by one of her best friends — and if Sarah didn't do the job, her parents most certainly would. She wasn't even able to understand what was going on, or exactly how hard everything was going to get, starting that day. But she knew that Ned was there, and that he was willing to risk impossible amounts of public ridicule for her, to be with her. He had the chance to undo their mistake — for himself at least — and had turned it down.

That was the moment when she decided that she was going to marry Ned McDodd. In that same moment, she burst into tears and threw herself into his arms, burying her face and his chest and breathing in huge, ragged gasps.

Unprepared for her sudden weight, he stumbled to one knee, forcing them both into an uncomfortable semi-crouch on the hardwood floor. "Sally? Do I need to get a paper bag? S-Sal . . ." Of course, Ned had never been in much control of his emotions, and as soon as Sally had started crying, he began to feel his own throat tighten and his eyes sting.

"Did someone die?"

Swiping at his eyes with one arm, he glanced over his shoulder (almost losing his precarious balance and sending them both tumbling) and saw Patrick and Sarah in the doorway. "What a-are you guys doing here?" he asked, turning back to Sally and helping her to her feet.

Sarah shrugged. "We let ourselves in." Snapping into best-girl-friend mode, she swooped in and wrapped a comforting arm around Sally's shoulders, pulling her close and leading her over to the couch, somehow simultaneously pulling tissues out of her purse. The boys just stood to the side, trying to ignore the fact that Ned had been crying and neither of them knew how to deal with it. "So," Sarah continued once Sally had managed to reduce her sobs to intermittent hiccups, " _what_  happened, exactly?"

Well, Sally had had to tell him; it was only fair that he share the news with their best friends. Shoving his hands into his pockets because he didn't know what else to do with them, he mulled over what he would say. Should he just blurt it out? Should he lead up to it with a series of cleverly-worded questions? Should he have them guess? Oh, if only he'd had time to think up a speech — he'd have to remember to do that for the rest of Whoville. Though what would he say?

When nearly a minute had gone by in utter silence, Sally lost her patience and said, "I'm pregnant, guys."

That was clearly not what either of them had expected to hear. Patrick, who had started to clean his glasses, dropped them with a clatter. "Wow," Sarah said, her voice weaker and more hesitant than Ned had ever heard it. "That was . . . really stupid of you."

"Sarah!" Patrick admonished. "This is where you're supposed to be quiet if you can't think of a nice thing to say!" Underneath the glibness, though, he looked pretty shaken. Turning to Ned, he asked, "So what are you going to do now?"

"We don't know. I don't know about Sal, but I was kind of hoping you would have some ideas." Sally nodded, hiccuping again.

Patrick and Sarah looked at each other. He raised his eyebrows; she shrugged. Ned had always wondered how they could communicate like that. "I don't know anything about kids," Sarah finally said.

"Me neither," Patrick agreed.

They turned to Ned, who looked at them, baffled. "What?"

Sally smiled, then was interrupted by a hiccup. "Ned, you have eighty-five younger siblings. You must have taken care of a few babies."

"That's not the same!"

"You're right," Patrick agreed. "You guys are only going to have one instead of fifty."

"It's  _not_  going to be the same," he insisted.

Sally stood and walked over to him, taking his hand and drawing it around her waist. "I know. But it's something, isn't it? And people do this all the time. They've written books about it . . .  _Oh._ "

All four of them just stared at each other for a moment. "To the library!" Patrick shouted, and they began scrambling around for their coats and backpacks.

"How did we not think of this before?" Sarah asked, hastily pulling her purse over one shoulder. "We're supposed to be the smart kids."

"You mean nerds."

"Shut up, Patrick." She stuck her tongue out at him, and Ned was surprised to find himself laughing. He caught Sally's eye as she locked up the front door behind them and she smiled, reaching over to take his hand.

"Maybe we're actually becoming cool," she suggested, and though she wasn't quite laughing, she looked happy.

"You guys are so mean," Sarah said, rolling her eyes. "I pity your future child."

Out of the corner of his eye, Ned saw Sally close her eyes and take a deep breath, squeezing his hand tight. He leaned in close and whispered, "It's okay, Sal."

"I know," she whispered back. And it was, somehow. The odds weren't great for this entire situation working out, it was true. But then again, the odds of Ned ever having a girlfriend who wanted him for more than his mayoral title were even worse, and look where he was now.

There would be plenty of time for freaking out, crying, thinking that they would never be able to survive. But for right now, they had the best friends anyone could ask for, and they were together.

Sarah glanced over her shoulder. "By the way, when you guys are feeling better I have to kick your butts for this. Remind me."

It would have to be enough.


	21. And Bump Makes Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when Sally gets used to being pregnant, Jojo decides to arrive.

**And Bump Makes Three**

Sally knew that no one was staring at her. It had been seven months since she'd found out she was pregnant, and at least three since everyone else began to notice. There were plenty of things to gossip about in Whoville — why would anyone still be looking at  _her?_

Not that she really cared. She was in too much of a rush to worry about a few stares.

A group of girls bolted around the corner, late to class and overcome with giggles. One of them almost bowled her over; only by grabbing onto the edge of the water fountain did she keep from falling. The girl put her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with horror as she took in Sally's bump. "Oh my gawd," she said, "I am  _sooo_  sorry. Can we like help you get to class or —"

"Come on, Em!" one of her friends said. "We're late." Her eyes traveled down to the soft curve of Sally's stomach, and she at least had the grace to look embarrassed. "I mean, unless you really need help . . . Our teacher's just kind of a jerk . . ."

Sally held up a hand. "I'm fine, don't worry." She wasn't headed to class, anyway. As she remembered why she'd excused herself from class, her stomach lurched and she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting until she heard the girls' footsteps fade away before breaking into a sprint — at least, as much of a sprint as she could muster, considering how unbalanced she now was.

Her desperate waddling was clearly not going to carry her to the bathroom, which was still down the hall and a set of stairs. Veering to the left, she pushed with her shoulder at the door that led to the parking lot, making it three steps before collapsing to her knees and vomiting up her lunch, barely managing to push her hair out of her face with trembling fingers.

The door swung open behind her, its hinges scraping together with a squeal that made her shudder. "Ugh!" There was moment where all she could hear was the sound of him fiddling with the door, trying to close it without making that awful noise again. While he was preoccupied, she ran a sleeve across her mouth, wiping it on the grass and trying to steady her breathing.

He put a hand on her elbow, gentle and tentative. "Was it the teacher's ham sandwich?"

She nodded, exhaling in a long shudder and allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. "Yeah," she said, her stomach twitching in displeasure at the mere word.

"I thought so. I've already told him, and he said he'd put it away, if you can come back."

"Thanks, Pat." For a moment she just stood there, leaning against his arm with her eyes closed. Even though it hadn't snowed all winter, the air was bitter, and it felt wonderful against her sweaty face.  _Why does it have to be Patrick?_ she thought. Not like he wasn't a great friend or anything, but where was Ned when she needed him? Of all the days to not show up to Whostory. . . .

Patrick's hand tightened on her elbow. "You should get inside," he said, gently pulling her through the door and into the warmth of the hallway. She mumbled a thanks and lowered herself to the floor carefully, still brooding. After a moment — and with a lot less trouble — Patrick plopped down beside her. "I'm sorry he's not here," he began, fiddling with his shoelace awkwardly. "But you know that he has to go to those council meetings if he ever wants to be mayor full-time. It's only once a month."

She knew all that. Of course she did; Ned repeated it hundreds of times every time he had to leave, each time more apologetic. But there was a difference between  _knowing_  that and  _accepting_  it. "I hate the council," she muttered. "When Ned's the mayor, they better not be such boobs."

"Oh,  _Ned_  will keep them in line. Don't doubt that." They both chuckled at the thought, and Sally rested her hands on her stomach, hoping she would feel a kick, a wiggle, something. It seemed to move all the time, especially when she needed to concentrate, but for now everything was still.

"He will, won't he?" she finally asked, shifting her weight in a desperate attempt to get comfortable. (The joke was on her; when you're going on your eighth month, "comfortable" doesn't exist, at least not on a tiled floor.) "I mean, they can't just keep bossing him around . . . forever."

Patrick shrugged. "Sure they can. What would stop them?" He shot her an amused glance and added, "Not that you'd let them, of course."

"That's a lot of responsibility to put me, isn't it? I have to manage Ned's life now, too?" She and Ned hadn't talked much about what would happen when the baby was born and they graduated, and just the thought of the future made her nervous and sick. But that was no reason to take her frustrations out on poor Pat. When she noticed that her friend's eyes had grown huge at her outburst, she nudged his arm with her elbow. "I'm just in a bad mood because of hurling all over the place. Don't feel bad."

They sat in silence for a while, listening for the harsh  _clop-clop_ of a teacher's hard shoes on the floor. Deciding they were safe, Sally struggled to a half-squatting, half-kneeling position, almost tumbling before Patrick's hand closed, iron-tight and damp with sweat, around her arm. "Where are you going?" he asked, alarmed. "Do you wanna get back to class?"

She shook her head. There was no way she could stomach another hour of Whostory, even if the dreaded sandwich was nowhere in sight. What she really wanted was to get out of there, into the fresh air and . . . "I need ice cream," she declared, wriggling until she had her feet under her.

Patrick's eyebrows shot up. "You  _just_  hurled." Still, he loyally helped her up and led her out the back door with only a single longing glance back in the direction of their classroom.

Sally could only shrug. Ham made her nauseous; ice cream made her mouth water. "Chocolate, I think," she said. "Or coconut. Where can I get that?" Suddenly it was the only thing she could even imagine eating.

"Sarah would know." Or she would find out; as soon as she had heard the news, Sarah had appointed herself Sally's personal assistant and pregnancy coach, and had embraced the task with an alarming ferocity. So far, she had read more books on the subject than Sally and Ned combined, leaving little notes in their backpacks whenever she found useful information — there was now a shoebox in their closet full of these little comments — and she would show up at all hours of the day to make sure that she didn't need anything.

Patrick had been a different story. As they made their way back outside, stepping around the bumps in the ground where the football and soccer teams had kicked up clods of dirt, Patrick kept one hand locked tight on her elbow and the other hovering near her lower back, prepared to use all of his meager strength to catch her should she stumble. While Sarah's nervous energy had manifested itself in a manic determination to help, Patrick fluttered nervously around Sally as though Ned would murder him if he let anything happen to her or the bump. "Speaking of our favorite psycho," he said, "don't you think she'll freak when she can't find us at lunch?"

"I doubt it," she replied, waving her hand dismissively. "She's eating with Erik today, right? She probably won't even notice we're gone until the end of the day." She winked at him. "As long as we're at my house by about 3:30, we'll be able to meet her before she panics and calls the police. Or worse,  _Ned_."

Patrick didn't even crack a smile. "Right," he said, his shoulders slumping. "Forgot about that." From his glum expression and deflated posture, Sally guessed that he hadn't wanted to remember. "She really likes him, huh?"

She sighed, wishing that she wasn't so round and unsteady on her feet. If she wasn't afraid of toppling over, she would have wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders. "I'm sorry, Pat," was all the consolation she was able to offer.

He tried his best to look surprised at her sympathy. "What? Don't be. It's all for the best, really. I mean, Sarah and I? We would've killed each other."

Sally realized suddenly that she hardly knew anything about Patrick and Sarah before she met them in sixth grade. She knew all about them individually — Patrick's mother was overbearing and a little scary, and he had an older sister that pretended in public that they weren't related; Sarah had four legal guardians: her dad, his boyfriend, and a mom who lived across Whoville with  _her_  boyfriend, and she'd tried to run away at five years old because she'd wanted to marry a circus performer that had stopped in town ("I was going to be a clown, I think" she would say, laughing, whenever the story was brought up. "Or maybe a lion tamer"). However, she had no idea how they'd become friends, or even how long they'd known each other. "You guys have been friends for a long time," she guessed. They just had that kind of chemistry.

"We lived next door to each other for . . ." He scrubbed his hand across his face, messing up his fur, "eleven years? Since I was born, anyway. My parents moved when we were in fifth grade, but before then we would hang out in the front yard every day. She had a tree house, and we would pretend we were pirates, hiding from the police." He noticed her skeptical glance and shrugged. "We were maybe six, Sal. How would we know that pirates didn't live in tree houses or get chased by the police?"

"Fair," she agreed, remembering that she and Ned had done something similar with astronauts and ninjas.

"Besides," Patrick continued, "Mom didn't let me read books with anything interesting in them until after we moved. I think it was guilt that kept her from trying to take away any books that weren't  _The Whordy Boys_  or anything with a fluffy animal on the cover." He was getting caught up in his story, his eyes lighting up the way they always did when he started talking about books. "That was when I got really into reading. Well, what else was I supposed to do, play sports? But that's not important," he said, shaking his head and waving his hand as though to brush away the digression. "Anyway, Sarah and I had to work a lot harder to hang out after that. We actually met at Who Park a lot, like you and Ned."

Who Park saw a lot of action, it seemed. It amused Sally to think that she and Ned might have been climbing trees just yards away from where Patrick and Sarah were throwing rocks into the pond. It really  _was_  a small world. "You guys grew up just like brother and sister," she commented.

He grimaced. " _She_  would definitely say that, but I never really thought of her that way. I  _have_  a sister, even if she's embarrassed of me. Sarah's always been . . . special."

 _You were special, too_ , she thought.  _For a little while._ If only their crushes had coincided. But she supposed that not everything could work out exactly as planned. As the familiar sign of WHOVILLE'S FINEST ICE CREAM! (COME ON IN AND GIVE IT A TRY!) appeared around the corner, she once again brushed her fingers over her thin shirt, feeling the warmth of her little bump.

Things  _definitely_  didn't always happen as planned.

But there was ice cream in her future, a good friend at her side, and an unseasonably warm sun on her face, so it seemed to balance out. Speaking of which . . . "Oh!" She patted her pockets, cursing. "I left my wallet at home today."

"Don't worry. Ned would kill me if I made you pay for your own ice cream, anyway." He pushed the door open for her, and a  _whoosh_  of warm air hit her full in the face. She waddled over to a booth while he went to order, tapping her foot as she waited.  _Coconut ice cream._  . . . Every nerve in her body seemed to be sending that one signal to her brain. She needed some coconutty goodness soon or she would tear the restaurant apart.

When Patrick finally sat down across from her and handed her the cone, it was all she could do to keep from shoving the entire thing into her mouth in one bite. (She knew it wouldn't work, but she was still tempted to try.) Instead she took a small, ladylike lick and said, "So you must really hate Erik, huh?" He and Sarah weren't technically dating — if they had been, he would have officially joined their table, rather than hopping around to visit his various groups of friends — but they had been nigh inseparable since prom.

He shrugged, biting off a corner of his ice-cream sandwich. "Not really."

"Seriously? When I was in your shoes, I  _hated_  Jamie."

Patrick held up one finger. "First, consider the difference between the two." He had a point; Jamie's charm was only appreciated by a select few — her friends, Ned for a little while, presumably her mother. Everyone else just thought she was really annoying. Erik, on the other hand, was and always had been pretty difficult not to like. Sally herself remembered harboring an intense crush on him when she was in middle and high school, one that was only shoved to the side when she'd met the odious-but-attractive Tom Birch. "Second," he continued, another finger popping up to join the first, "he makes Sarah happy. Have you seen her recently? When she's not being your personal drill sergeant, I mean."

"It's pretty annoying," she conceded with a smile. Her ice cream was gone already, so she began sticking her fingers in her mouth and sucking the drips off them, not caring how she looked. She had fast learned that once her stomach was visible through T-shirts, people stopped complaining about her manners, and she was going to take advantage of that for as long as she could. Especially since coconut ice cream had been the only thing she'd eaten all day that hadn't come back up.

"It is. But I'd be a pretty awful person if I hated him, dontcha think?"

Sally was about to agree, until she realized what this said about her and Jamie. "Are you calling me an awful person?" she asked.

"No! That was totally different! This is . . . well, it's much more . . . I mean, she's a lot . . . and they're . . ." He stammered and struggled for words, his face turning a strange, mottled color as his skin peeked pink between strands of pale green fur. The sight was so funny and endearing that Sally couldn't help but laugh, though her smile faded immediately as she felt something trickle down her leg.

"Sal?" Patrick's face was still a little red, but his eyes were wide as he watched her face. She had no idea what she looked like, but her heart had clenched into what felt like a marble-sized ball in her chest, making it hard to breathe. "Are you okay?"

"Be right back," she replied, her voice strangled. She staggered to her feet and hurried to the bathroom.  _Not yet,_ she thought, shoving into the first stall.  _Not yet, not yet, not yet._

Sally knew that it was early, but she had taken to reading about labor and delivery. Sarah and their doctor had both told her not to think much about that yet. "Your water shouldn't break until your thirty-fourth week of pregnancy," the doctor had said soothingly, and Sarah had concurred. "It's way too early to be freaking out about that, Sal," she'd said, pulling the book out of her friend's hands. "Let me tell you when it's time to start freaking."

She'd read them anyway, of course. The books had said that it was likely that she would pee her pants as the bump got bigger, but as she leaned forward and inhaled, she realized that this didn't smell like urine. Any suspicions were further confirmed by a stabbing pain in her lower back, causing her to double over with a small moan. It was more out of fear than pain; if these really were contractions, they were only going to get worse.

And if they really were contractions, then her bump was going to become a baby a lot earlier than it was supposed to.

Barely remembering to hike up her skirt and button it around her, she burst back into the restaurant, gritting her teeth together as another wave of pain clenched her abdomen. " _Pat!_ " she gasped, reaching a hand out to him. It was shaking, and she felt weak and helpless.

This was wrong. None of them had suspected this, not Ned, not Sarah, least of all herself. None of them had prepared for what would happen if she went into labor almost two months early, and she had no idea what would happen next. All she knew was that the spasms weren't going away, and they weren't hurting any less. She was vaguely aware of shouting, of arms lowering her to the dirty floor, of hands spreading her knees as someone (presumably the leg-spreader) cried, "It's okay, I'm a doctor!" in a voice that sounded low and dreamy to her panicked mind.

Suddenly Patrick's face was over hers, sweat matting his fur and making it shiny. He took one of her hands in both of his, and she used her free one to clutch at his sweater. "Get Ned," she pleaded.

Their baby was coming.


	22. Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The baby's coming! But where's Ned?

**Complications**

_Ned knelt down and kissed his daughters one by one as they filed in for dinner. It was an evening tradition that was starting to become too much for him; with forty little girls and one even smaller boy, his back would be sore and his lips tired by the time the last one had toddled through the door. "Hello, Lily and Tilly," he said, "hi, Kara and Carol, Jenny and Julia and Jamie!" Sally had not been happy when he'd suggested the name to her, and had in fact offered several alternatives, but since the conversation had occurred just a few hours after delivery, she was too tired to come up with any female names they hadn't already used; all her name ideas came from objects in the hospital room. "Okay, Sal," he'd told her soothingly, kissing the top of her head. "How about we stop thinking about this for now, and you can decide in the morning whether you like any of those names better than 'Jamie.'" (Once some of the exhaustion and painkillers had worn off, she'd reluctantly agreed that naming a child "Bedpan" or "Dead Bug on the Windowsill" counted as child abuse, and had allowed her youngest daughter to be given a little small green bib with "Jamie" written on it.)_

_Just when he'd thought they were all seated at the table, he felt a tap on his elbow. "Dad?"_

_Ned's eyebrows drew together as he looked down. "Jojo!" He could've sworn he'd already kissed that small mop of dark hair . . . but then again, it was hard to keep track of them all after a certain point. How his wife managed to keep everything straight was beyond him. "Didn't you already go by?"_

_"Yes, Dad. But I had a question, so I'm here." Jojo was eight years old, and with every day grew more inquisitive. Ned sighed inwardly and hoped that this time he would know the answer; last time he'd spent about half an hour trying to explain that the ocean was salty because it just_ was _, and finally gave up and told him to ask his teacher._

_"Ask away."_

_Jojo shuffled his feet, looking somewhat embarrassed. Ned wondered with horror whether this was about to become the "How babies are made" talk. "Well, all of my siblings were born in groups. Except for me." He reached up and tugged at a necklace he had made the week before and refused to remove, a strange blend of twisted paper clips and scraps of metal — including an old nail that was red with rust. (When Ned had mentioned this to Sally, she'd sighed and said, "Believe me, I tried, and it wasn't pretty. At least he's up-to-date on his shots.") "Why am I all by myself?"_

Thank goodness _, Ned thought. He glanced back into the dining room, where the girls were all grabbing their food and Sally was standing at her chair, looking at him curiously. Once again her stomach was beginning to swell under her dress. "One sec, Sal," he called, sitting down on the couch and pulling Jojo down next to him, trying to figure out where to start, and how much of it his son would understand. "Some Who families have kids almost all like you — each born one at a time, you know?" Jojo nodded. "And some others are like our family, where there are a lot more big groups, called litters. Those'd be your sisters. And no one really knows_ why _," he added, anticipating Jojo's next question, "but it tends to run in families. That's why you have so many aunts and uncles."_

_The oldest Who scrunched up his face, thinking that over. "Okay," he said slowly, "but then what about me?"_

_Ned gathered Jojo up in his arms for a hug, letting go quickly (Jojo wouldn't tolerate much physical contact). "You were special, born early. And we thought for a while that you weren't going to make it. Your mom was so scared . . ."_

* * *

Sally's shriek was loud enough to shake the entire building; all across the hospital, startled nurses dropped their clipboards and stopped what they were doing to listen.

Down in the lobby, a chubby green teenager sprinted up to the front desk. "Is he here yet?" he asked.

The receptionist, who had witnessed this routine several times in the last few hours, shook her head, her glossy sheet of red hair hardly moving. The boy cursed and turned on his heel, racing back the way he came. The receptionist sighed and covered her ears, knowing what was coming.

Patrick burst into Sally's hospital room. "Not yet," he panted, leaning against the wall.

"WHERE IS HE?!" she screamed, causing a vase to slip off her bedside table and shatter. Her face was bright red with exertion and fury, and her hair was sticking to her head in sweaty clumps. Her sheet-covered legs were held in stirrups, limiting her movement, but still she looked like she was going to leap off the bed and start throwing things.

That was, until another contraction swept over her. Her head snapped back and her eyes squeezed shut, a weak groan slipping between her clenched teeth. Patrick leapt into position, taking her hand — carefully avoiding her fingers, which had crushed his several times — and stroking her hair until it passed. "You're doing great," he said, not entirely sure whether that was true. "Just a few more minutes. Sarah went to get him, and they'll be here any minute." (When the nurse had asked who they should call, Patrick gave her Sarah's number without thinking, even though Ned's office extension was written on the inside cover of every one of his notebooks. When he'd told Sally about his mistake, she'd been too afraid to do anything more than mutter, "Of course you would.")

Sally's eyes were glazed with pain, exhaustion, and fear. "What if it's not okay?" she asked. "What if it's too soon, and Bump dies, and Ned won't be here —" She started crying, but was interrupted by another contraction.

"They're coming faster," he told the nurse, who was unhurriedly checking Sally's vitals and writing in her clipboard.

"They do that," she replied, and continued with her task. "You've got time."

Suddenly another nurse ran up to theirs, frantically whispering in her ear. They stared at each other's clipboards, eyes huge, then switched. Once the other girl had disappeared with the correct clipboard, their nurse flipped through the pages quickly. "Sally? You're premature?" she asked.

Patrick didn't like the concern in her voice. Evidently, neither did Sally. "Of course I am!" she cried. "Didn't you wonder why he kept calling me 'Sal' if your clipboard had AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT NAME WRITTEN ON IT?!"

"I'll go get a doctor." With that, the nurse was gone, moving quickly.

"Oh my gosh," Sally moaned, sinking back into the pillow. "This is a disaster. And Ned's not even here!"

"Don't worry," he reassured her. "I'm sure he's just a few minutes away."

* * *

"But it's been  _hours!_ " Sarah shouted at the Town Hall secretary. "And it's his  _baby!_  I think you could interrupt the meeting for this!"

The secretary gave her a look that was sympathetic, but unyielding. She was quite familiar with it, as she'd been on the receiving end of that look since one o'clock that afternoon. It was now four-thirty, and somehow the meeting was still going on. "I'm sorry, Miss, but the Chairman said that were could be no interruptions, as they had so little time with the Mayor."

"But it's the Chairman's grandson!" Legally, anyway; Ned would be furious if he'd heard Sarah say that, but she was willing to do just about anything to get into that meeting. "Don't you think it'd be important to him?"

The secretary's expression was now tinged with irritation. "Don't you think that if he'd wanted to interrupt the meeting for this, he would have specified that?"

"But no one knew it was going to happen this early . . . Ugh!" There was no point in arguing. "What could possibly take this long, anyway?"

"There are many important matters to be discussed. They are deciding the fate of Whoville, after all." She raised her eyebrows as if to say, "And that's the end of that."

"Fine. But I'll remember your name" — She peered at the name tag — "Miss Yelp the Intern." Sarah moved her gaze from the tag to the woman's face. "You're not much older than me, are you?"

Miss Yelp blushed, then turned to a large stack of paperwork, marking it and setting it into piles.

Finally the heavy wood doors opened, and the chairmen filed out in twos, laughing about something or other. Ned was the last to leave, and the only one alone. His head was down and his shoulders slumped, which wasn't too much of a surprise. The closest board member in age to him was almost ten years older, and from what Sarah had heard about the meetings, they treated Ned like a kid most of the time. Before he could even look up, Sarah had lunged forward and snatched his arm. "Sal's in labor," she said abruptly, dragging him toward the door.

Ned, nearly pulled off his feet, just stared at her like she was crazy. "What?" he asked, his face pale. "What are you talking about?" It took all of her willpower to stop and explain the situation, even though every fiber of her being was desperate to get to the hospital without delay. When she was finished, Ned's face had drained of all color, and he looked unsteady on his feet. "We have to go," he said weakly.

"We can't walk there! It'll take forever!"

"My step —" A flash of disgust crossed his face, looking so alien compared to his normal gentleness. "The Chairman will take us."

"'Fraid not." They turned to Miss Yelp, who looked apologetic. "I tried to stop him, but he said he had to get home and that you were used to walking." She shrugged. "They all left."

Sarah threw her arms in the air. "Great! So now what're we supposed to do? Can  _you_  drive us?" she asked the intern, who shook her head.

"I can't afford a car." She began shuffling through the papers on her desk. "There might be a bus schedule around here somewhere, but that'd be almost as long as walking . . ."

Sarah turned to Ned, about to ask him what he thought they should do, but was startled into silence by his expression. His eyes were bright with a fevered determination, and a small smile was on his face. Before she could ask what was wrong, he turned toward the desk. "Miss Yelp, I'll need key number 6074," he said.

While the other girl fetched the key, Sarah asked, "What are we going to do?"

Miss Yelp tossed Ned the key and he caught it, his hands only shaking slightly as he started walking down a hallway Sarah had never been down before. "We're taking the giant meatball."


	23. Jojo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. and . . . Mrs.? McDodd welcome their first child into the world.

**Jojo**

"Anything?" Sally asked weakly. She'd been waiting, sweating and shaking, as Patrick had gone down once again to see if their friends had arrived. He shook his head, and she let her head fall back against the pillow. "Great."

"It'll be okay," he said. "You've got people here." Sally's mom was in the waiting room, trying to keep her siblings from running amok, but she would periodically run in to kiss Sally's forehead and tell her that everything was fine, and to get her as soon as the baby was coming. "Don't worry about a thing."

They were interrupted as the door opened and a gangly, pink-furred girl slipped into the room. She was dressed in a long white doctor's coat and carried a clipboard, but looked even younger than they were. She nodded at the nurse, who promptly left, before turning her attention to Sally and Patrick. "Hello," she said cheerfully. "I'm Mary Lou Larue, and I'll be shtudying your delivery, if that'sh okay with you." When they stared at her blankly, she coughed and shuffled her feet a bit. "I'm a medical shtudent," she added, bashful.

"Why are you so young?" Patrick asked. Sally just rolled her eyes and muttered something about it feeling like a zoo in here. "Everyone coming in and staring at me like I'm some exotic stupid bird . . ." she grumbled to herself.

Larue flushed, her skin as bright as her hair. "I shkipped a few grades." With that, she sat down on the stool that had been placed by Sally's bed, flipping through the papers on her clipboard and inspecting all the equipment. "Thish ish mosht fashinating," she murmured. "You're only exshpecting one?" she asked, glancing up at Sally. "That'sh very unushual." She then went into a long, lisping speech about how she was so excited to be studying the mayor's genetic line and their propensity for having litters of children, and that in this case, the single birth was bizarre. "Perhapsh your genesh are overriding the mayor'sh," she said thoughtfully, pulling a needle out of her pocket. "May I take a shample?"

"I —" Sally was cut off by another contraction that tore through her. Larue took the opportunity to slip the needle into her elbow.

"Marveloush," she said, looking at it like it was a buried treasure. "I musht tesht thish!" With that, she was gone.

Sally just stared at Patrick. "Should I go check for Ned again?" he asked, reading the irritation on her face.

"Yes, please."

* * *

"Wow," Sarah said, looking up at the meatball. It was bigger than she'd remembered. "They'll be okay with you taking this?"

"I'm the mayor. They'll have to be." She was a little worried about her friend's attitude; he was rarely this confident or stubborn, and she couldn't help but wonder whether this was some extremely complicated mental breakdown.

The float had a truck cab sticking out of the front. Ned handed her the keys and climbed into the passenger's seat. "I've never driven a meatball before," she said, turning it on and pulling gently forward, "so hold on tight."

"Better you than me," he replied, pressing his head back against the seat and closing his eyes. "I'd probably end up crashing us into the wall, I'm so freaked."

The street was black by now, with only a few streetlights creating small orange spheres of light in the mist. "Lovely driving conditions," Sarah muttered, peering forward to see better. She felt like she was driving way too fast, but judging by the way Ned's leg was bouncing and his hands were clenched into fists on the armrests, he was getting impatient. "We won't make it there if we die," she reminded him.

"I know." He groaned. "How long has it been since Patrick called you, again?"

"Uh . . . about four hours. But don't worry — first births usually last at least five, so we've got time." Relieved to finally have all that pregnancy knowledge come in handy, she began spouting off facts as they occurred to her, trying to avoid the most horrifying ones. "And most women when delivering tend to — _Crap_!"

Ned turned to her. "Really? They do?"

Actually, that  _was_  true, but the exclamation had come from seeing flashing red-and-blue lights in her rearview mirror. "I think someone called the police on us," she said. As if on cue, the car turned its sirens on, shattering the calm night.

"Don't even think about it!"

"What?" Before she could do anything, he had unbuckled his seatbelt and vaulted over the gear shift. Practically sitting in Sarah's lap, he mashed her foot against the gas pedal with his own, grabbing the wheel as they squealed forward. Luckily, the road was mostly empty, though Ned swerved around several cars, sometimes barely scraping by. Still, the police car was keeping up, and the sirens seemed to be getting louder.

Suddenly they heard a voice boom, "YOU ARE UNDER ARREST FOR STEALING ONE GIANT MEATBALL! PULL OVER IMMEDIATELY!"

"Ned —" Sarah began.

"Don't bother," he muttered, glancing behind him before yanking the wheel to the right, zooming through a red light and almost killing them both. "We're almost there."

"This is insa —" Her words were cut off by a scream as Ned took a corner too sharply, causing the two left wheels to lift off the ground. The weight of the meatball was too much, and they overbalanced, crashing with a shriek of twisting metal and breaking glass. Sarah's head hit the steering wheel, pain exploding through her nose and turning everything red. The windshield burst, scratching them both.

Ned crawled out of the truck's busted front, blinking blood out of his eyes and wincing as the rain fell into a cut that had opened his forehead, just below the hairline. He raised a hand to wipe it . . .

. . . and felt the cool steel of a handcuff as it closed around his wrist.

* * *

"You owe me so big."

Ned stared at his twin sister. His head had been bandaged up, as had Sarah's nose, and they were both sitting against the back wall of the police department, holding tissues to their less-hazardous cuts. Mimi shook her head at them. "You know you knocked over the Cloogan Farfoogans while they were practicing in the park, right?"

They'd been told. No one had been hurt, though, and apparently Mr. Farfoogan had had such an excellent time that he wanted to make it part of the Whoville parade next year.

Mimi slapped a wad of money on the counter, watching as the officer on duty counted it. "That's bail," he said. "You can go." They'd been waiting for a little less than an hour. Sarah had been worried that the delay would make Ned even more crazy, but it seemed to have calmed him down (though maybe that was just the head injury). "Where did you get the money?" he asked as they headed outside.

"The Chairman." She rolled her eyes. "He's  _mad_ , by the way. I think the only reason you're not grounded or dead right now is because 'his' grandchild is being born, and it's made him a little less annoying than usual."

"Where is he?"

"At the hospital." She gave him a pointed look. "That's why you owe me."

He was just about to ask what that meant when he heard the answer.

" _Hey_ , little brother!" Tom was leaning out the window of his truck, a smirk on his face. "Took the meatball for a joyride, huh?" he said, laughing as they climbed in. "That was stupid of you."

Ned rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Just get us to the hospital."

Tom shrugged, stopping at a red light and spitting out the window. "I don't know," he said. "I kind of want to hang out with my friends, you know? So I think maybe I'll just drop you off somewhere."

Neither Ned or Sarah knew what to say, but they didn't need to. "Just be sure to leave us near a pay phone," Mimi said.

Tom wasn't a genius, but he was smart enough to smell a trap. "Why?"

Mimi shrugged, looking angelic in the glow of the dashboard. "Oh, I just want to give one of my girl friends a call. I'm going to be an aunt, after all, and you know how girls  _love_  babies. Maybe I'll call Kyra, tell her what's going on." She shot Tom a sly glance, then held an imaginary phone up to her ear. "'Kyra? You won't  _believe_  what my jerk step-brother did! You know Tom, your sister's boyfriend? He wouldn't take us to the hospital to meet Ned and Sally's baby!'" Tom was staring straight ahead, his expression thunderous. Ignoring him, Mimi continued her pretend conversation. "'I  _know!_ '" she squealed, making her voice as girly and annoying as possible. "'It's so rude! Do you think maybe he's just jealous? I mean, he  _did_  use to like Sally . . . oh!'" She gasped in pretend shock and covered her mouth with her free hand. "Did I say too much? Looks like someone just lost a girlfriend."

They made it to the hospital in record time.

* * *

"I have very good newsh, Mish O'Malley!"

"He's here?" Sally asked, lifting her head off of her sweat-soaked pillow. The doctors had said she was close, and she was never out of the sight of at least a couple nurses. Not to mention Larue, who would pop her head into the door, say something in her excited lisp, and then disappear. It seemed she was back. Plopping down on the stool, she dangled her long arms over her knees and looked at Sally like she was a beautiful work of art.

A sweaty, tear-stained, bloated work of art, anyway.

"Yesh!" Larue exclaimed. "Mayor McDodd ish being treated for his head wound right now, but I managed to get a blood shample from him! Now I should be able to get to the bottom of thish!" She leapt to her feet and sprinted out of the room.

Patrick and Sally stared at each other for a moment. "I'll go get him," he said immediately, following the crazy med student.

She hardly noticed his departure, however, because just as he left the room, a wave of pain more intense than anything she'd felt before washed over her, making her cry out. Before she knew it, she was surrounded by doctors and nurses, all talking extremely quickly.

"She should be okay —"

"Here's her chart!"

"Okay, Sally, this is going to hurt, but —"

"Just take deep breaths —"

Suddenly Ned was at her side, cutting through the confusion. She didn't even notice the gauze wrapped around his forehead, or how he looked like he'd gotten into a fight with a cat. She just snatched his hand, holding it to her chest and feeling her eyes well up with tears. "Don't leave me," she moaned.

He shook his head. "Never, Sal."

And he didn't, not until their son was put safely to sleep, wearing a tiny blue hat embroidered with the name "Jojo."

* * *

_"You ended up being just fine," Ned said, ruffling Jojo's hair. "Though you were the funniest-looking ball of fur we'd ever seen."_

_Jojo stared up at him. He'd been amused by the giant meatball, but now he was dead serious. "But didn't Dr. Larue find out what happened?"_

_Ned shook his head. "I guess some things can't be found out, kiddo. But you're okay, and that's what matters." Besides, that research had gotten Larue her job at the Whoniversity, so it wasn't a total failure._

_"Ned?" Sally stuck her head out of the dining room. "The kids are getting antsy."_

_"We're coming, don't worry." He watched as Jojo ran to the table. "Sorry, dear," he said, leaning over and kissing her on the cheek._

_She took his arm and pulled him back into the living room, hooking her arounds around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder. "You didn't tell him the whole story."_

_"Well, no," he admitted, taking her left hand in his and holding it up to the light so that their wedding bands shone. "I thought he didn't need to know all that right now. Besides, isn't that a story you'd like to tell?"_

_Sally laughed. "Oh, yeah, it's a real romantic one," she teased. "What girl doesn't dream of being proposed to while recovering from labor? The hospital bed, the smell of disinfectant, the fluorescent lighting . . ."_

_"It worked, didn't it?"_

_For a second she was there again, cradled in Ned's arms, Jojo sleeping in hers. How she'd been so afraid she was going to drop the baby when he slipped the ring on her finger, how he'd had to admit that he'd been carrying it around for months, trying to find the right time to ask. How Sarah and Patrick had kept the secret from her for so long, and how Mimi had cried when she'd heard. . . ._

_She looked up at him, and for a second he was a senior in high school again._

_"Yeah," she said, smiling. "It sure did."_


	24. Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, no one said parenthood was easy.

**Fine**

Ever since Ned's graduation from high school — and subsequent marriage and mayorhood — he'd often been asked about his life: how easy it was to balance his personal and professional lives, how he managed his children, how it felt trying to fill his father's shoes. And every single time he was asked this question, he would shrug his shoulders and lean back, sticking his hands in his pockets and saying with a casual air, "Oh, you get the hang of it. It's fine."

Ned McDodd wasn't much of a liar, but he'd mastered that one fast.  _Fine_ _,_ he thought to himself, running a sweaty hand through his hair until it stood up in spikes as he tried to read a twenty-page document in the thirty seconds it took to walk from his office to the council room. "'The council proposes that the aforementioned shall be dealt with as according to Amendment 362, Paragraph 6' — what the heck is Amendment 362? And who's the aforementioned?" Like he had done every day since becoming mayor, Ned tripped over the rug outside his office, nearly falling and spilling his papers everywhere.

Suddenly a hand was at his elbow, catching him before he hit the ground. "Thanks, Miss Yelp," he said as soon as he was upright, flashing her a quick smile and taking the coffee she held out in her free hand.

"Mmm-hmm." This had become something of a ritual over the past few months, ever since he had hired her as his personal assistant (it was the least he could do, since her involvement in what newspapers were calling the Great Meatball Caper had gotten her fired from her old job), and they were both becoming comfortable with their routine. Ned would almost catastrophically screw something up, and then Miss Yelp would swoop in just in time to keep Ned's career from imploding; she'd then offer him a cup of coffee, answer his gratitude with a disinterested "Mmm-hmm," and return to her desk, where he was pretty sure she spent most of her time playing games on the computer.

"Do you have any idea what this is about?" he asked, holding up the sheaf of papers. She looked it over and shrugged, reaching over to straighten his tie. Ned rolled his eyes. "I have the nosiest secretary in the entire universe, and she didn't bother to look at the  _one_  thing I need to understand before this stupid meeting?"

Miss Yelp yanked on his tie, almost pulling him off balance again. "I'm not nosy," she said stiffly. But then a small smile quirked at her lips. "I did, however, happen to overhear the Chairman discussing it with one of his Greenies," she added, referring to the rest of the council, a group of middle-aged men who were inexplicably all various shades of green. "Something about a guy cutting his neighbor's Boozleberry tree down illegally, and a fistfight resulting." She gestured to the papers. "If I'd known it was going to be that interesting, I might have given it a closer read."

Oh, great. Two and a half years later and  _that_ problem still hadn't been resolved? He muttered a curse, and Miss Yelp slapped the back of his head, nearly spilling his coffee. "What was that for?" he demanded, rubbing the sore spot and wincing.

"You're a family man now, Mayor McDodd. You don't want to set a bad example for the kid."

Ned laughed. "Jojo's barely a year old," he said, "and I'm not even twenty. Cut me a little slack."

"That's not my job." The buzzer on Miss Yelp's desk went off, jolting them back to the situation at hand. "You're late." She took the papers from him and straightened them, then looked him up and down. Apparently deciding that he looked okay — or that there was nothing she could do to help him now — she handed him the documents again and shoved him towards the stairs.

"I'd  _kill_  for an elevator," he groaned, beginning to climb the insane number of stairs that led from his office to the meeting room; they'd been painted bright pink and green, as though that would make constantly going up or down them any easier. "Make a note of that, please."

"Mmm-hmm." With that, the door between them closed, leaving him to the mercy of the council.

* * *

"Goodnight, Jojo. Mommy loves you  _very_ much," Sally cooed, looking down at her son. Jojo stared up at her, his big brown eyes at half-mast. He yawned, and Sally held her breath.  _Please let him go to sleep,_ she thought, pressing her lips together and watching carefully.

"Night," he mumbled, before dropping off to sleep. Sally let out a silent sigh of relief and backed away from the crib. It had become an act of Herculean difficulty to get Jojo to take his afternoon nap, and the rare times he actually went to sleep without being dragged to his room screaming were to be cherished. Even after a year, she hadn't quite managed to figure out how to talk this incredibly stubborn, intelligent child into doing things he didn't want to. He was slow in learning to talk, but was picking everything else up with stunning rapidity, and Sally often found herself talking to him like he was her own age — and maybe she was crazy, but it sometimes seemed that he could understand her perfectly.

 _Or you haven't had enough sleep_ , she told herself. She really should take this opportunity to get a nap in herself — that was what all the baby books said to do — but she didn't have time. It hadn't occurred to her when she'd agreed to marry Ned that being the wife of the mayor meant that her family was constantly in the public eye, which in turn meant that both she and her house had to be spotless at all times, just in case some important official or a really gossipy housewife decided to stop by unannounced. She ducked into the bathroom, running a towel over the pristine counter absently and checking her hair in the mirror. Luckily for her, it was still in perfect condition, despite the hours she'd spent crawling around the floors of the house, searching for dust bunnies. "Sarah would be so proud," she muttered to herself, a habit that she had developed. It came mostly from the fact that she had no one but Jojo to talk to most of the day, since Ned was at work and both Sarah and Patrick were at Whoniversity. Still, that was preferable to the company she occasionally received during the day. . . .

 _DINGGGG!_  The doorbell was unbearably loud; when Ned and Sally had moved into the house, she'd asked if it could be replaced with something quieter. "Of course not, Sally dear," the Chairman, who had found the gigantic house for them about half a mile away from the McDodd-Birch mansion, said. "If your husband needs to be called on important business outside of office hours, we will have to be sure that you can hear the bell, wouldn't we?"

Of course, since nothing had ever gone wrong in Whoville, that hadn't happened yet. But the bell was still there, just as annoying as the day they'd moved in. "The things I do for you, McDodd," she muttered to herself, sprinting down the insanely long hallway to the front door. As she rushed past Jojo's room, she heard the sounds of him sniffling and whimpering through the open door: a precursor to screaming, she knew. "Crap!" she hissed, and scooped him out of his crib as the doorbell pealed again. "Crap, crap crap."

Jojo, comforted by her presence, stared up at her. "Cra?" he repeated. "Cra . . . puh. Puh puh puh."

Oh, great. He'd learned a new word. Ned would be so proud. "Don't say that, honey," she said, giving him her finger to hold onto and shifting him onto her hip. "It's a bad word."

He inspected her finger, seeming to ponder her statement. "Puh," he finally burbled, then closed his tiny lips around her finger and gently gnawed on it with his tooth. Sally threw the door open just as the bell began to ring again, coming face to face with Ned's mother, accompanied by Tom.  _Oh, great._

"Hi, Carol," she said, forcing a smile and shifting subtly so that she blocked the door. There was no reason to give them any opportunity to come in if it wasn't absolutely necessary. "What a pleasant surprise." Or it would have been, if Carol didn't find reasons to come over at least once every two or three days. Usually the pretenses were pretty flimsy, and Sally supposed she should feel bad; it seemed that taking care of all the children was beginning to take its toll on her, and her husband was somehow around even less often than Ned's father had been, leaving her alone most of the time.

Carol laughed lightly. "Oh, Sally, Tom and I were running errands and I realized that I can't find my orange scarf! Randall bought it for me for my last birthday, and it's made of the most  _beautiful_ stuff, I don't even know what. I thought I had it a few weeks ago . . . You haven't seen it, have you?"

Of course she hadn't, but she reluctantly let the door swing open. "Well, no, but you can always check." Hopefully this would be a quick in-and-out visit, and she could get Jojo bathed and dinner started before Ned came home for once. The last time Carol had showed up, she'd spent two hours going over the best way to get rid of mildew in their bathroom in agonizing detail.  _She's lonely, she's lonely,_ she repeated to herself, pressing her lips together as her mother-in-law began running her fingers over the banisters and tables in reach. _  
_

"You've kept these very clean," she said, sounding a little surprised. Tom was silent, looking around sullenly. He'd be graduating from whocademy in a few weeks and would be moving into whatever _fantastic_  house his father found him to go with his  _fantastic_  job on the council, but until then, he was stuck living with all 84 of Ned's younger siblings and was not happy about it. (Neither, it turned out, was Cassandra, who'd dumped him after Mimi had "accidentally" spilled a project she was working on all over her. The project, of course, had been tie-dye.)

"Yeah, well, since you brought over that new duster, I've been having more luck." The duster had come in a bucket with rags — though they were of better quality than most of Sally's clothes — and rubber gloves, which had all been delivered on one of Carol's visits. She had smiled sympathetically and said, "I was just thinking of you." Which of course meant  _You're terrible at this, but I feel bad for you because you're so young and naturally unkempt._ She'd even explained how to use them, as though Sally had no idea what cleaning was! Ned's mother seemed to be picking up some of the less pleasant Birch traits from her husband and stepson.

Still, it looked like she'd passed the test this time. Carol took a cursory glance over the living room, clearly not looking for a scarf or anything else, then settled down on the couch, putting her hands in her lap and crossing her legs. "This is a lovely home." She mentioned that every time she visited, as though it was the first time she'd been there. Normally, Sally smiled and thanked her, but she was far too tired and annoyed for that, so she just took a seat and pulled her finger out of Jojo's mouth, wiping it on her leg with a sigh. Mrs. McDodd finally added, "Though it  _does_ seem a little empty — not that you're thinking of more children yet, of course."

Tom snorted and Sally froze, turning her attention to him. "What exactly does that mean?" she demanded, more sharply than she'd intended.

Carol looked baffled, glancing from Tom to Sally. "I meant nothing, dear," she said. "I-I think I will look for my scarf upstairs." She escaped, leaving Tom and Sally to glare at each other in silence.

Sally hugged Jojo to her chest, turning away from Tom and willing herself not to get into an argument. She couldn't resist, however, when she heard another chuckle. "Is something funny?"

"My dad says you two are barely holding it together," Tom said, plopping down onto the couch. "And that's only with one kid." He rolled his eyes. "I have no idea what Carol was thinking, saying that."

"Carol clearly sees that we are doing  _just fine_ ," Sally snarled, "and knows that we could handle another child no problem."

He raised his eyebrows, a move that would have been attractive if she hadn't hated everything about him, and gestured towards Jojo. "So you and Mayor McLoser are thinking of having more of those things?"

Okay, now she was furious. No one implied that she and Ned were bad parents, and  _no one_ referred to her son as a thing! She drew herself up and gave him her most scathing look. "That's Mister Mayor to you, Tom. If you're going to be taking over your father's job, you're going to have to learn to talk like an adult. And maybe we are — it's none of your business, is it?"

Tom sat up too, raising his chin defiantly. "I figured I could be informal since this is family," he sneered, "and of course it's my business. That kid's my nephew, since  _Mister Mayor_ 's my brother, so I think I have a right to know if you two are stupid enough to be thinking about more kids."

"As a matter of fact, I'm already pregnant," she blurted out. If she could have clapped her hand over her mouth without revealing her lie, she would've done it. Still, the look of shock on Tom's face was almost worth it.

Carol, who'd been coming down the stairs, overheard this last bit. "Oh my goodness! This is so exciting! I'll have to tell Randall as soon as possible, and Mimi will be just thrilled, and — are you sure you're all right, dear?" she asked, taking Sally's free hand and looking up at her with a concerned expression. "You look awfully pale."

Tom was smirking, which gave her just enough courage to keep from admitting that she'd made the whole thing up. "Of course, Carol," she replied coolly. "I'm doing just fine."

"Crap!" Jojo cried, squirming out of her grip and plopping onto the floor, where he happily began crawling around. "Crap . . . puh. Puh puh."

She couldn't have said it better herself.

* * *

All of Sally's baby books had told her that after eight months, it was important to set a bedtime and not come in every time the baby cried. It was good for their development or something — not to mention her sanity.

Jojo, unfortunately, did not care about either his or his mother's well-being, and had spent the last four and a half months shrieking for about twenty minutes every time seven o'clock rolled around. Sally was currently sitting at the kitchen table, staring down a cooling bowl of taco soup and waiting for his wailing to taper off. It had gotten to the point where she didn't cry about leaving him alone anymore, but she still wished that Ned would just get home and suffer with her, at least; the guilt was so much worse when she was home alone. Especially when he should've been home by now, and with company.

Finally, when the house had been silent for almost ten minutes and Sally was sure Jojo had dropped off to sleep:  _DINGGGG!_

That stupid doorbell. . . . Listening to Jojo wake up and demonstrate his amazing lung capacity, she climbed to her feet and went to the door, where her two friends were standing shamefaced.

"Sorry, Sal," Sarah said, glancing over the shoulder at the stairs. "This idiot lost our spare key."

"I'm pretty sure  _you_ still have it," Patrick snapped. "You have a boyfriend — start blaming him for everything, will you?"

"That's what I'm here for," Erik said, popping out from behind them with a paper bag in his arms. He held it out to Sally. "We thought you'd need this," he explained, handing it to her as they all entered. Though Sally suspected that Patrick still harbored a bit of a crush on Sarah, he and Erik seemed to be pretty good friends, and Pat had even managed a few dates in the year that he'd been a Whoniversity. Erik fit surprisingly well into their group, all things considered, though Sally couldn't quite consider him as close as Patrick or Sarah.

She set the bag on the counter and pulled out a six-pack of beer. "This is quite illegal, Erik," she said, pretending to look outraged; though Patrick and Erik were both of drinking age, the rest of them were still a few months too young (or, in Sarah's case, almost a year, a fact which made her livid). "I'm a mother, after all."

"And your husband's the mayor," he replied, scooping soup into three bowls. "I thought between the two of you, no one in Whoville deserved it more, laws be damned." He set the food in front of Patrick and Sarah, gesturing at the bottles with his spoon.

"Where is he, anyway?" Sarah asked, looking around as though she'd just noticed Ned wasn't there. "Shouldn't he be home by now?"

Sally shrugged. "I was hoping you'd tell me." They were supposed to pick him up at the office, like they did every Friday. It had become a tradition since she and Ned had gotten married and the others had gone off to Whoniversity, because otherwise they wouldn't  _ever_ see each other.

"We swung by, but that secretary girl said he wasn't there," Patrick explained, tossing a roll into the air and catching it. "She still doesn't like Sarah, in case you were wondering."

Sarah made a face. "I don't think she's forgiven me for that meatball thing. Every time I show up she looks like I'm going to get her in trouble again."

Miss Yelp and Sarah's relationship, while entertaining, was far from Sally's mind. "He hasn't called," she said, looking concerned. "I don't know where he could be." Not that he'd be too happy when he got home and heard what she'd done, but still.

"Oh, no," Sarah said, reading Sally's face. "Don't go all jealous and crazy again. I thought we'd left that behind in high school."

Erik rolled his eyes and laughed. "She's really supportive, isn't she?" he said, earning an elbow in his side from Sarah.

"Like getting a big hug," Patrick answered dryly. Sarah kicked him in the shin, but was smiling as the two boys high-fived each other.

"I'm fine," Sally said, glancing out the window. "I just hope everything's okay. I  _really_ have to talk to him."

Patrick was the only one who picked up on the worry in her expression. "What's up, Sal?"

Why did he have to be so perceptive? She sighed and turned to them, a grin spreading across her face despite herself at the ridiculousness of her situation. "You guys won't believe what I got myself into."

* * *

Sally was going to kill him.

Not that Ned could blame her. It was about an hour after Jojo was supposed to be in bed, and he was standing in the middle of a stranger's backyard arguing over a tree.

The only other government official there was Randall Birch; the rest had been spared this inanity. They were both mostly just watching as two men — Mr. Firgle and Mr. Smirgle — screamed at each other over the fence that separated their yards.

"That was MY tree!" Mr. Smirgle yelled.

"Well, the berries were in MY yard!" Mr. Firgle shot back. "And MY dog was getting sick for them!"

"That dog is stupid and you know it!"

"Not as stupid as your wife!"

"You know you just called your sister stupid, right?"

Ned leaned toward the councilman. "Can we outlaw Boozleberry trees and be done with it?" he whispered, watching as the fight become increasingly uglier and more personal.

Randall shook his head. "I know I'll never eat another one for as long as I live, though," he said, and for a moment all the strain and discomfort of their relationship disappeared, and they smiled at each other like normal colleagues.

"Why don't we just plant another tree?" Ned finally asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose, where a headache was forming. "Far away from Mr. Firgle's yard?"

Mr. Smirgle sniffed. "It'd take years to grow!"

Mr. Firgle snorted. "He's so stupid he'd probably mow it over as soon as it became a sprout."

"Well at least I didn't fail Whoniversity!"

"Or we could get one of those . . ." Ned waved his arms, fumbling for words. "Those ones that are already partially grown when you stick them in the ground?"

"Seedlings," Randall interjected helpfully, reading the panic on Ned's face.

The two men paused, the anger seeping out of them. "That'd be hard to plant," Mr. Smirgle finally muttered.

"I'll do it. And Mr. Firgle here will pay for the tree." Ned shot Mr. Firgle a glare, daring him to complain.

Mr. Firgle sized Ned up, then sighed. "As long as  _he_  pays my vet bills."

"Perfect! It's agreed," he said before either Firgle or Smirgle could argue. "Let's get this all on paper so I can go home."

"I'll take care of it," Randall offered. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mister Mayor."

Ned stared at him for a moment, his mouth hanging open slightly. "Thank you," he finally said, unable to believe his luck.

At the edge of the yard Randall caught up with him. "Does next Saturday work for you?" he asked. "For the planting, I mean." He nodded, and the councilman just stood there, staring at Ned's forehead (a maneuver Philip McDodd had taught his son years ago. It was a perfect way to look calm and commanding while feeling uncomfortable and awkward). He was just about to say something vague and slip away when Randall added, "Listen, Ned . . . are you okay? I hear from Carol a great deal about Sally and Jojo, but I know that we don't often have an occasion to talk."

 _That's probably because your son and I hate each other, and you love your son more than anyone else._ "Yeah, I guess," he replied, mimicking the forehead-staring strategy.

For a moment they just gazed at one another's foreheads, both feeling stupid but unwilling to either meet each other's eyes or look away. "I know it's not easy," Randall finally said. "This job . . . honestly, I don't know why your father loved it so much. Add that to Sally, and your son . . ." He sighed, finally lowering his eyes to the ground. "I know I rarely act like it, but I'm quite surprised — well, proud, really — of how well you're doing."

Ned was speechless; not only did this make Randall Birch much harder to despise, but he was  _proud?_ His own father had implied that occasionally, but had never said that to him. For an embarrassing few seconds Ned was afraid that he was about to cry. Shaking it off, he shrugged and gave the councilman a small smile. "Thanks."

Randall stared at him for a moment, seeming concerned. "And you're sure you and Sally are handling everything acceptably? You're both so young —"

Ned's phone rang; technically, it was only supposed to be used for office-related problems, since cell phones were so new and expensive, but the only person who had ever called him on it was Sally, and not very often. He held up one finger to his step-father and answered the phone, "Sal, I'm so sorry I'm late, but —"

"TELL HIM ALREADY!" he heard Sarah shouting in the background. (And Erik's voice: "Sarah, you gave her half a second!")

"Honey . . . I kind of accidentally told your mom and Tom that I'm pregnant. So we're either going to need to have another baby or skip town."

"Ned?" Randall was looking at him with concern, probably because all the blood had drained out of his face. "Is everything okay?"

"I'll be right home, Sal," he said faintly, hanging up the phone without saying goodbye. Turning to Randall, he stuck his hands in his pockets, leaning back slightly. "Don't worry," he said with a shrug. "It's fine."


	25. Parenting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned tries to connect with a silent Jojo, while Sally tries to figure out how to get through to her clueless husband.

**Parenting**

"I don't understand what's wrong with him."

Sally paused, her hair in her eyes as she hung upside down. She'd been watering one of the planters that hung outside almost every window in the McDodd mansion when she'd knocked it off its stand. Luckily, she'd managed to catch it before it toppled to the ground two stories below. Less fortunately, the ground suddenly jolted and she had nearly fallen out the window with it, only saved by the leg of her pants being caught on the window latch. And since her children were all at school or napping, that left her alone.

When she'd called Ned, he said he'd come rescue her immediately, but somehow during his trip home he'd returned to an obsession that had been plaguing him for the last year or so: Jojo. Namely, why Jojo had stopped talking.

Of course, Sally was concerned about her son as well, but she was slightly more worried about falling on her head at the moment. "Ned, honey, I'd love to talk to you about that, but could you just . . ."

She couldn't see her husband, but after almost eighteen years of marriage she could picture exactly what he was doing: standing in the hallway behind her, wringing his hands and talking to her bare foot — all that was visible from his vantage point — as he paced back in forth. His hair was probably sticking up from running his hands through it, like usual, and if he didn't keep rubbing his sleeve over his mayoral crest to make sure it was still shiny, she would eat the flower planter that was still in her hands. "Oh! Of course." She felt his hands under her ribcage, and for a second she was worried he wasn't strong enough to lift her.  _I'm not_ that  _big yet . . ._ she thought to herself. But she was set safely on the floor of the hallway a few moments later.

Putting the planter down, she raised her hands to her head, wincing as the blood flowed out of it. "Thanks," she said, pecking him on the cheek before sinking to the floor with a groan. "That was  _not_ fun."

Ned looked down at her, shaking his head with amusement and consternation. "You really shouldn't have been doing that anyway," he replied, kneeling down in front of her and resting his hands on her stomach, which was barely beginning to show with twins . . . again. These would be the ninety-sixth and -seventh, respectively; Sarah had taken to calling them the Rabbits, and insisted that Sally had to be some sort of superhero in disguise.

She rolled her eyes. "If I stopped working every time I was pregnant, nothing would get done. Besides," she added, pulling out her Whophone, "while I was hanging there I called the doctor, and he says as long as I didn't hit my belly on the way down — I  _didn't_ ," she said hastily, seeing the panic in his gray eyes "—they'd be fine. Which they are. So stop worrying, okay?" She held out her hands and he pulled her to her feet.

"It'd be easier not to worry if you didn't fall out any more windows." He polished his crest with his sleeve again, unthinkingly. "None of my colleagues' wives have done that, you know."

"Then I'm special, aren't I?"

He looked at her, a small smile on his face. "You most certainly are," he said, and surprised her by leaning forward and kissing her. With a gasp, she stumbled back into the wall (she was still unbalanced after her adventure out the window, after all) and pushed him away gently.

"Stop that," she said with a laugh. "The last time you did that," she put his hands on her bump and rubbed her nose against his, "you did  _that._ "

"Mommy?" They turned to see one of their three-year-old daughters staring up at them, approximately thirty older sisters standing behind her. "Emily, Susan, Minnie, Micki, Nicki, Carlie, Danielle, Angelica . . ." She continued rattling off names while Sally and Ned glanced at each other, wondering — not for the first time — how they could possibly have so many daughters, "and Caroline are home."

Those were all her elementary-school-aged girls. "What . . ." Sally began, casting her eyes over the sea of multicolored heads.

"Half day," they chorused. Nicki, one of the older girls, added, "The school caught fire." She cocked her orange head to the side, looking her parents up and down. "Why's Daddy home?"

"Fire?!" Ned repeated, alarmed, while Sally said, "None of you caused it, did you?"

Erica, a lime green fifth grader and Nicki's twin, let her mouth fall open and her eyes widen with teasing shock. "Mother!  _Why_  would you think that?"

"Lovely," Ned muttered. "Sarcastic, just like her mom."

Sally stifled a giggle and elbowed him in the side. "Statistically, it seems likely," she told Erica. "Can you get them into the dining room and help them with lunch? I'll be there in a minute."

" _Sure_ they will," Minnie said in a stage whisper. "Once they're done being  _gross_ and making kissy-faces." At that, the entire crowd squealed in disgust.

"You're too old for that," Nicki informed her parents, shaking her head and meeting Erica's smug gaze. " _Way_ too old," Erica added. "Like, dinosaur old."

Sally rolled her eyes and swatted at them with her watering can, shaking sun-warmed drops all over and making them shriek. "Get out of here," she told them with a laugh. "I'm going to walk Daddy to the door and give him a kiss goodbye."

"EW!" they all yelled in unison.

At the door, she handed him an apple. "I made you skip lunch," she said apologetically.

"I'm glad you did. Could you imagine those girls trying to rescue you from the window?" He smiled and hopped onto his dad's old unicycle, which he had lovingly kept in perfect condition. "I'll be home around seven," he said, waving with the hand that held his apple.

Once he had cycled out of sight, the house exploded into a cacophony of screams. Sprinting to the dining hall, she saw her dining-room table half-full of girls, the rotating chairs spinning rapidly while Erica and Nicki stood by the control panel, slamming buttons. "I don't know what happened!" Erica cried, watching the blur of rainbow fur.

Sally gently pushed them both to the side and turned the rotating off, causing the chairs to stop so suddenly that everyone fell onto the floor. As they picked themselves up, grumbling, she turned to the twins. "Haven't I told you not to play with this?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. Once they'd bowed their heads and apologized, she shooed them and some of the others into the kitchen to help bring out food.

 _Two near-disasters averted before lunch,_ she thought, putting her hands in the small of her back to crack it.  _Not bad._

* * *

"I still don't know what's wrong with Jojo."

Well, he'd gone almost nine hours without bringing it up. With a weary sigh, Sally rolled onto her side, peering through the dark to see the outline of her husband's face. "He's a teenager," she told him, biting her lip to keep from pointing out that it was ten at night and she had been very close to sleep. "They're just weird."

"I still think something's wrong," he said, staring up at the ceiling, where light from the streets was making pretty shadows. "Kids don't stop talking for no reason."

"Maybe it's the end of the world," she joked, resting her chin on his chest. "I mean, that mini-earthquake that made me fall out the window, Jojo giving us a year-long silent treatment . . . What does it all mean?"

"I'm serious," he complained, turning to face her. "Aren't you worried about him?"

She was, but she and her only son had a strange form of communication, one they'd developed in the three years before he learned how to speak (though she thought it hadn't been a lack of intelligence as much as stubbornness; he didn't see the point in verbal communication, so he didn't bother with it). She would talk and he would be silent, but if she asked him a question ("yes" or "no" only), he would either snap his fingers once or twice, often giving her a small smirk like he realized how stupid this was. But he was like a brick wall to his father: not only did he refuse to speak, but he wouldn't snap, smile, or even look directly at him. He would just sit there, which hurt Ned unbearably, but no matter how many times his sisters or mother tried to talk him out of it, Jojo wouldn't say a word.

Sally hated keeping secrets, but she couldn't bring herself to tell her husband that she and Jojo had this small communication, and that she had an inkling — though Jojo would never admit it outright — of why he was being so quiet. So she lay in silence, thinking to herself, as Ned continued. "I try to talk to him, get him interested in something, but it's like there's nobody home."

"What do you talk to him about?" she asked, feeling suspicion tickle at the back of her mind.

Ned shrugged. "What I loved as a kid," he said. "The thought of being mayor."

There it was. Since Ned was about as subtle as a flying brick, she had to tread carefully with this topic. "Honey, do you think maybe you should . . . not bring up the mayor thing? He might not be as excited about it as you were." When he stared at her like her fur had suddenly turned neon green, she added, "You know, nervous."  _Or not the mayor type,_ she thought to herself, knowing better than to suggest  _that_  particular idea.

His face brightened. "I understand that!" he exclaimed, convincing Sally that he didn't understand at all. "I'll reassure him that he has nothing to be afraid of! That he —"

"Or you could talk about something else." His face was blank, and she groaned inwardly. "He likes to read, Ned. I always see him with books." Of course, most of them were about machines and famous inventors, but her husband had read almost everything. There  _had_ to be some common ground there.

He rolled onto his back again, looking thoughtful. "I suppose . . ." he mused, somewhat doubtfully. "I'll give it a shot, anyway."

"You do that." She snuggled against his shoulder and fell asleep hoping that it would work out.

* * *

"You'll be okay?" Sally asked Jojo, shrugging into her coat and hiking her purse up her shoulder. "You know where all the emergency numbers are, and Nora and the older girls have been ordered to help —" He rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers once. She smiled and kissed the top of his head. "Just making sure," she said, glancing up the stairs behind him to see if Ned was ready yet. Since he wasn't, she knelt down in front of him, surprised anew at how tiny he still was. "You know," she murmured conspiratorially, "if you talked you would be able to argue with me more. There's only so much disdain a kid can express with finger snaps."

He shot her a look that clearly said, "Nice try, Mom." She laughed, ruffling his hair and making him grimace.

"Ned!" she called up the stairs. "We're going to be late!"

He appeared at the entrance to their bedroom, his shirt caught around his head so that only his hair stuck out the top. "Just a second — I just need — AAAAH!" In his blind stumbling, he stepped off the edge of the landing and fell down the stairs, landing at the bottom in a crumpled ball. Jojo leapt nimbly out of the way, and after ascertaining that his father wasn't dead, disappeared into the kitchen.

Sally helped Ned to his feet, fixing his shirt and giving him an exasperated look. "Your nose is a little swollen," she said, shaking her head.

"I'll be fine," he replied hastily, shoving her out the door and yanking his jacket on at the same time. "Goodnight, kids!" he shouted before pulling the door shut and speed-walking down the driveway.

Sally struggled to keep up, a pair of high-heeled death traps on her feet and a very impractical white-fur dress swaying around her ankles. Finally catching up to him, she tugged on his arm until he slowed down, and they made their way to the Town Hall, where Ned was going to ordinate the council members for the year. "It's freezing," she said, drawing her coat tighter around herself. "I know it's January, but it felt like summer last week."

"Hmm." Ned's gaze was far away, and she knew that he was either worrying about the ceremony or about their son.

Hazarding a guess, she asked, "Did you talk to him about books?"

He blinked, surprised, and she knew she'd guessed wrong. "Who? Oh, Jojo." His expression tightened. "I asked him what he was reading, and he held it up so I could see the cover. Something about great musicians of Whoville . . . I remember reading it when I was his age, actually." For a second a smile flitted across his face, but it was immediately replaced with consternation as he added, "But when I asked if he liked it, all he did was snap his fingers at me and keep reading. I don't get it — is that some kind of insult now?"

Sally clutched his arm, excitement shooting through her. "No, that's good! How many times?"

Startled, he looked down at her. "Um . . . once, I think."

"That means he likes the book!" Giddy with excitement, she threw her arms around his neck. "This is progress, honey!"

"Really?" He beamed. "Then what does it mean if he rolls his eyes and walks away?"

"Think about it, Ned."

His face fell. "Oh. Of course. I wasn't thinking."

"It's okay." She wrapped an arm around his waist and asked, "So what did you say to annoy him?"

"I have no idea! After he snapped at me, I decided to change the subject, and told him about how mayors are a lot like musicians . . ."

Sally sighed, tuning out her husband and gazing up at the stars.

It was a first step, at least.


	26. Growing Old, But Never Growing Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned and Sally attend a New Year's party and prove that silliness doesn't have an age limit.

**Growing Old, But Never Growing Up**

"You're late."

"Thanks, Miss Yelp," Ned said wearily, handing his jacket to one of the coat check attendants. "Has it started yet?"

She shook her head, her elaborately-braided purple hair brushing against her cheeks with every movement. "Your friends are here, though." She jerked her chin in their direction. As they all walked to the table, she added, "By the way, they don't have any cream puffs here. As mayor, you need to insure they have some cream puffs from now on."

"It's on my list," he replied, settling down at his seat and smiling at his friends. Patrick, Sarah, and Erik had all shown up for moral support, and the six of them (including Miss Yelp) had their own table. Sarah was glamourous as always in a dark purple dress (though she still complained about her giant nose), Patrick seemed very uncomfortable in a starched suit, and Erik looked good — which made sense, since his wife insisted on dressing him.

"Nice party, Mayor," Sarah teased. "I can't believe I'm spending my New Year's with a bunch of old people."

"We're old, Sarah," Patrick said. "It's what we do."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "I will never be old," she declared. "You're only as old as you feel! Besides, forty's the new twenty, right?" _  
_

"Let's not even _think_ about forty yet. We still have a few years."

"You'll be there before I will."

"Kids, kids," Erik said, sticking his head between them, "if you two don't stop bickering, I'll turn this table around."

" _That's_  a lame joke." Sarah laughed and sat back. "Anyway, there better be cream puffs," she told Ned. "Otherwise I'll never come to one of these ever again."

"You say that every year," Erik replied. He turned to Ned with a smile, giving him a hug. "How're the kids, by the way?"

"Jojo still won't talk, but the rest are doing fine. Sorry about the council job. I was pulling for you, I promise."

Erik shrugged, giving him a rueful smile. "There's a position at the Whoniversity I'm qualified for, so I'll be all right. I really just wish there was someone on that board who wasn't a Greenie. Those guys are jerks — no offense," he added, glancing at Patrick.

"Hey, I'm ashamed to share their hue."

"Good man." Erik grinned at Ned, then unbuttoned his suit jacket. "I was going to come dressed in a giant chicken suit in protest, but Sarah would've killed me, so I settled on this." He pulled back his jacket to reveal bright orange tie with yellow and white chickens dancing across it.

Ned wrinkled his nose; even with his impaired sense of fashion, he knew it was hideous. Even better, it would offend the prim sensibilities of the council. "Glad we're sitting front and center," he said, leaning closer to see that the chickens were wearing little red-and-green bow ties. "Make sure they get a good eyeful of that thing."

"Ugh, are you showing people that?" Sarah abandoned her conversation with Sally. "I tried to make him dress like a grown-up," she assured Ned, lightly smacking Erik on the arm.

"You know I'm beautiful," he shot back, puckering his lips at her like a fish. She laughed and kissed him, and they disappeared in search of cream puffs.

Sally was talking to Patrick and Miss Yelp. "Where's Melanie, Pat?" she asked.

He grimaced. "Melanie didn't work out."

Sarah groaned, having abandoned Erik at the food table and returned to their group. "He's an idiot, is what he means." When Patrick stuck his tongue at her, she said, "Well, it's true! She was a perfectly nice girl, and you dumped her for no good reason —"

"I wouldn't say that —"

"You broke up with the last one because she was too tall!" It was true; Patrick had gone through several girlfriends over the last fifteen years, and none of them had lasted for more than a year or two. Sometimes they would break up with him, but more often he would simply show up alone one day, giving a half-hearted reason as to why "it didn't work out." Patrick would rather die than admit it, but Sally and Ned both suspected that he hadn't let go of Sarah, even though that ship had sailed long ago and he had no intention of ruining his best friend's happiness.

He shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "I was tired of staring up into her nostrils."

Sarah shook her head, but a bell rang before she could reply. The Chairman was standing on a small stage at the front of the room, poised in front of a podium. "If you could all take your seats," he said, shooting their table a sharp look, "we can begin the ceremony."

"That moustache is  _not_ working for him," Sarah muttered.

"Nn-nnn," Miss Yelp agreed.

Tom Birch either didn't hear them or decided to pretend he didn't, stepping aside and holding out his microphone to Ned. "Mister Mayor, if you would . . ."

Ned's hands were trembling slightly, as they did every time he had to address a large group of people, but he managed to look calm as he took the microphone from his step-brother, even managing to smile at him. "Thank you, Chairman," he said, then turned to the room. "Here's to another year of nothing going wrong in this beautiful city of ours!" When that was met with raucous applause, he felt a little calmer. "Now, we are terribly sad that one of the councilmen is retiring after so many years of excellent service —"

"Excellent my butt," Sally grumbled, just loud enough for him to hear. He ignored her as well as he could and continued.

"— but he will be replaced by his son, who was elected only yesterday. If he would join his colleagues on stage, we can begin." He swore the new man in, knowing that he was just as likely to oppose and disdain him as the others were; to him they were all one giant green face, led by Tom. If only Erik hadn't been blackballed by the Greenies . . .

 _Still,_ he thought, looking the council up and down as they all gave the Whoville Pledge, then turning his gaze to the hall full of citizens,  _I love this job._

* * *

"It's a pleasure to work with you, Mr. Wodilt," Ned said, shaking the new councilman's hand. He was a little older than Ned, and had been one of Tom's football buddies back in high school.

Neil Wodlit glanced up at the Chairman, and when it was clear that he was supposed to say something back, he replied, "Yeah. It'll be fun, Mister Mayor." He coughed, and Ned could've sworn he heard "McLoser" in the man's hacking.

Excusing himself, Ned collapsed in the chair next to Sally with a groan. "I thought I'd left this behind in high school," he complained, resting his head in his hands.

Sally rubbed between his shoulder blades. "Some people never grow up," she said.

"HEYYYYYYY!" Sarah threw one arm around Sally's shoulder and the other around Ned's, falling to her knees between them and nearly knocking them both over. Her breath stank with the sharp tang of alcohol. "This party is awesome! Like . . . awesome. Seriously. Awesome."

"Speaking of not growing up," Sally said with a laugh.

"You're really not one to talk," Ned replied. "Where's Erik?"

"Right here." He was hovering over the three of them, amused. "Mrs. Redson," he said to Sarah, "how about we get you home to bed?"

Sarah shook her head, her dark purple curls slapping Sally and Ned in the face. "No no no no no no," she slurred. "We need to see Ned's giant ball." When they all just stared at her blankly, she reached over and took Sally's water, fishing out some ice cubes with her fingers and plopping them into her mouth. "You know," she said. "Ned has this giant ball made of meat. And we rode it once. Well . . . I did. Ned just sat there."

Ned's face flushed bright red, and Sally started snickering, both at her friend's words and her husband's face. "She doesn't mean —" the mayor began.

"I know." Erik looked down at his wife tenderly. "I'm sorry about her," he said. "She just hasn't gotten out in a while, and she kind of went overboard."

"I wanna touch Ned's giant ball!" Sarah whined, struggling to her feet — not very successfully, as she kept stepping on the edge of her dress and falling over. This time she was loud enough for people at the next table over to hear.

"Again, I am  _so_  sorry —" Erik said, but he trailed off as Sally and Ned exchanged looks, then burst out laughing. "Wait, you aren't drunk, too, are you?"

They both shook their heads. "That just sounds a little familiar," Ned explained. The year Sally and Ned had been married, she'd attended his first mayoral function and been so nervous that she drank five glasses of punch without realizing it was alcoholic. Besides being illegal, this had forced them to leave early when she staggered up to Tom Birch — who had been named Chairman that very night — and pronounced him "chair of the boobs." Then, on the way home, she had broken free of Ned and stumbled up to his meatball float, pressing her hands against it and shouting, "I'M TOUCHING NED'S BALLS!" at the top of her lungs.

It had made the next day at work extremely uncomfortable, to say the least.

Patrick, who had been dancing with Miss Yelp, came over to their table. "Hey Sarah," he said, and he and Erik helped her to her feet. "Having a good time?"

"I love this party!" she exclaimed. "I don't even care about my giant nose!"

"That's good." He turned to the others and added, "Come on. The ball's about to drop." When they started giggling (including Sarah, though she didn't quite understand what was funny), he and Miss Yelp stared at them in confusion.

"Nothing, Pat," Sally said, hooking one arm through his and the other through Ned's. "Just refusing to grow up."

* * *

When they got home, Sally quietly tiptoed up to her son's bedroom; as the only boy, he was allowed to have his own, but it was about the size of a broom closet. Jojo was sitting at his desk, a pile of tools and scrap metal sitting in front of him and a pair of thick goggles perched on his nose. He glanced up at her when she entered, his large brown eyes — so much like hers, but darker — inquisitive.

She didn't come in, but stood at the door. "Thank you," she told him, not bothering to elaborate. She didn't need to.

He couldn't quite hide a smile as he shrugged and, after a pause, held up his finger and thumb in the classic "okay" symbol.

"You think you'll give him less of a hard time from now on?"

His lips pursed as he pushed his goggles off his head, thinking. Finally he seesawed his hand in a so-so motion:  _maybe._

"Is that the best I'm going to get?"

One snap:  _Yes._

"I'll take it." She turned to go, but was stopped by something hitting her shoulder. She looked down and saw a ball of paper at her feet, then glanced up at Jojo. "You need a better way of getting my attention," she told him, putting her hands on her hips.

He shrugged apologetically, then held up a sheet of paper. On it was written, "Why is Dad like that?"

She sighed, shaking her head. "He just loves being mayor, hon. And he wants you to feel the same way." When Jojo deflated, his eyes fixed on the floor, she sat down on the edge of his desk. "It'll be okay," she said. "I know he's a bit difficult, but he adores you. More than you can possibly imagine." _  
_

He turned the paper over and wrote, "As long as I'm mayor."

She kissed the top of his head. "He'd love you just as much if you weren't. But I promise I'll try to talk to him if you will, okay?"

Jojo sighed, then nodded. "No promises," he wrote.

"I'm not asking for any. Goodnight, sweetheart." He snapped once and returned to his invention, his tongue poking out between his lips as he worked.

When she got back to her bedroom, Ned was sprawled across the bed, fully dressed and snoring. She smiled and gently pushed him over to his side, kneeling down at the foot of the bed and pulling his shoes off.

They never really grew up, did they?


	27. A Giant Elephant in the Sky, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who'd believe something like that?

**A Giant Elephant in the Sky, Part I**

"Hiya, Mayor! What have you been up to?"

Ned eyed Bert from Accounting suspiciously. Though he had mostly accepted that the voice coming from his office drainpipe was really an elephant named Horton, he couldn't entirely shake the feeling that the whole thing was an elaborate joke set up by his friends at the Town Hall. Still, he flashed a smile at Bert, affecting an air of exhaustion (not hard to fake, considering every second he worried that the speck he lived on would be destroyed). "WhoCentennial planning,  _hoo_ ," he said with an exaggerated sigh, pretending to wipe his forehead. "Makes the giant meatball look like cake!"

They both paused, pondering that awkward and unappetizing comparison. Then Bert shook it off and clapped Ned on the shoulder — a little too hard, as always; Bert was one of those skinny men who was stronger than he looked (or thought he was), and consequently was always accidentally hurting people and breaking things. "Don't let the Chairman get you down, Mayor! It'll be perfect."

"Like everything in Whoville!" he shot back, giving Bert a thumbs-up and moving on before the conversation could continue. He had to get back to his office before Miss Yelp noticed that there was still a horn dangling over his balcony.  _Need to call Sally, too,_ he thought with a sigh. He'd have to tell her that he was going to be home late.

There were a few things he needed to follow up on that had nothing to do with the WhoCentennial.

* * *

"Late again?" Sally asked, brushing her hair out of her eyes and focusing on the giant mauve puddle that was making its way across her kitchen floor. Her daughter, Heady, was standing in the middle, her eyes wide with shock as she held out an overflowing glass of juice to her twin, Freddie (well, Winnifred, but they already had a Winnie) and a now-empty carton in the other hand. Freddie's fur was bright purple from the juice, and her mouth opened wide as she blinked it out of her eyes. Sally waited, holding her breath, then letting it out in relief as her youngest daughter began laughing.

"Well, this celebration, Sal, it's really — you know, a hundred years is a long time — I have a lot to get ready for." Ned wasn't much of a wordsmith, but she wasn't used to him fumbling over himself like this.

"Everything okay?" Despite her best intentions, however, she found herself only half-listening as Ned began to assure her that he was fine, everything was fine, there was absolutely nothing unusual going on. Heady, enjoying the sound of her sister's laughter, had decided it would be even funnier to spill the rest of the juice on Freddie, and delighted giggles rapidly turned into shrieks of indignation. Ned stopped mid-sentence, hearing Freddie's wails. "Should I let you go?"

She winced, feeling guilty for not paying him attention, especially when he was so stressed. "If you don't mind," she said apologetically, scooping Freddie up and setting her in the sink, then plopping Heady on the counter next to her. "Girls are fighting again. I'll keep dinner warm for you." Heady, realizing who her mom was talking to, reached out her chubby hands for the phone.

"Da!" she said eagerly.

"Sorry, girls, but Daddy's busy. He'll be home to tuck you in goodnight." She hung up quickly and got to work cleaning up her girls.

The thought flitted through her mind that Ned had been taking a lot of late nights recently, and even when he  _was_ home, he was distracted and nervous. But then again, she had ninety-seven kids to take care of, and she let the worry fade just as easily as it had arrived.

Her husband was a good man, after all.

He'd go crazy before he'd lie to her.

* * *

 _Daddy's busy_. Ned felt a twinge of guilt, but pushed it away and focused more intently on the stack of papers in front of him. "I'm not lying, after all," he muttered to himself, and that was true enough. He  _was_ busy. Technically.

After a few seconds of staring blankly at the papers, he shoved them away. How could he focus on deeds and bills for the WhoCentennial when he wasn't even sure there would  _be_  a WhoCentennial? _  
_

Like he had every fifteen minutes or so ever since he first heard the elephant's voice, he scrambled to his feet and hurried to his balcony — throwing a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure that his door was closed. "Horton?" he called softly, standing on his tiptoes to better speak into the horn. "How's it going?"

"Good, Mayor!" Horton's voice was bright and cheerful, just as it had been every time they'd spoken. "We're currently wandering through the beautiful Jungle of Nool . . . On my left is a pool where I take my daily baths, and up ahead is a  _beautiful_ pile of rocks that the children made me."

Ignoring the strange idea of bathing in a pool, Ned asked, "Children? You . . . you have a family?"

Horton laughed, the sound a little sad to the mayor's ears. "No, no. They're my students."

Ned sat back against his balcony railing, forgetting in his fascination that anyone walking behind Whoville Hall would see him talking to a gutter. "I've always wanted to teach," he said wistfully. "Not enough to give up being mayor, but . . . you know, it'd be fun."

"Oh, it is, Mayor! It's the most wonderful thing in the world, teaching Tommy, and Jessica, and Katie . . . Not that you know any of them, of course." Horton sounded embarrassed.

His eyes wandered back to the papers that needed to be signed and sealed, then up at the picture of the chairmen, which tradition dictated had to hang over his desk. A flash of guilt shot through him, and then in a burst of defiance he turned back to the horn and said, "Tell me about them."

* * *

It was rare that Sally ever got a moment alone, so she'd become very skilled at using the time she had as efficiently as possible. It was the only way that she could take care of 97 children, keep the house clean, and somehow still have relationships with Ned and her friends.

It was also why, when her friends came over for their Friday night parties, they had to simultaneously babysit their combined 101 children.

"Jojo!" Sally shouted, balancing two of her daughters on each hip and a tray of drinks on her head. He appeared at the top of the stairs like a ghost, silent and immediate. "Can you bring those platters into the living room?" She tried to gesture with her foot, but quickly gave up. Besides, he'd know what she was talking about, considering all the oldest children had spent over an hour helping her make them. "Get Nora if you need help, too!" she added as he disappeared into the kitchen. "Don't try to carry them all!"

Over the low-level roar that filled the house's waking hours, she heard a single snap. Rolling her eyes, she carried the girls into the living room, nearly dropping the tray as she ducked under the doorway. Erik leapt to his feet and grabbed the tray, deftly tossing beers to Patrick and Sarah and handing sodas out to the kids. "You really should let us help," he reproached, taking the four children out of Sally's arms and setting them on the floor.

Sally laughed, patting Sarah's husband on the shoulder. "Why would I? I have almost a hundred little helpers right here —  _Don't throw sodas at each other!_ "

Patrick stood and plucked the drinks out of the offending girls' hands, holding them well out of reach. "So Ned's gonna be late again, huh?" As the years had passed, Patrick had grown skinny, the rich green hair on his head thinning and his glasses thickening. To Sally, though, he was still the sweet, clever boy that he'd always been, and it always disappointed her that he'd never found a girl who loved him for that.

"Yeah." She sighed, shaking her head. "I can't wait until this WhoCentennial nonsense is over. He loves it, but it's killing him."

"I can imagine." Erik ran a hand through his pink curls and shook his head. "The students are taking an extra week of break to celebrate, which means everyone's scrambling to make up for lost time. The library's been a nightmare." He was the head librarian and a researcher at the Whoniversity, a job the McDodds appreciated almost as much as Erik did; more than once their friend had used his position and popularity to raise support for Ned at the college, deflating what could have been nasty conflicts with the council.

Sarah suddenly sat up straight. "Where are the munchkins?" she asked, referring to her children. "They better not be causing trouble . . . Hey! Kids!"

Erik and Sarah's three sons suddenly tore through the hallway, racing past the living room. Years of practice giving her speed and strength, Sally grabbed the scruffs of their necks in both hands and hauled them — gently — into the living room. "Where's your sister?" she asked.

Joey shrugged, dragging his lavender-furred toe across the floor. Little Pat, the oldest and most mature of the children, looked up and said, "Upstairs, Aunt Sally. With the other girls." Neddy, the youngest, stuck out his tongue and added, "Ewww, girls!"

Erik laughed, tousled Neddy's peach-colored hair, and said, "That's my boy."

Ignoring Erik, Sarah leaned forward and met Little Pat's eyes. "Are you guys being good?"

"Yes!" all three boys chorused, and Sarah waved for Sally to let them go.

"All right," Sarah said, "that's three down, one to go. JOSIE!"

"Yes, Aunt Sarah?" one of Sally's littlest daughters asked, popping her head into the living room.

"No, sweetie,  _big_  Josie," Sally said, kissing the top of her head. "Is she with Mimi?" When little Josie nodded, she added, "Being good?"

Little Josie shrugged. "As good as they can be."

"Oh, good." Sarah settled back, satisfied that her children weren't destroying Sally's house. Where Patrick had become slim and lanky, she had plumped up, her long purple curls cascading over full breasts and a round belly. She joked that she was shaped like a basketball and could roll faster than she could run, but Erik (and sometimes Patrick) still looked at her like she hadn't aged a day. "So spill it, Sal. What's going on with your husband?"

Sally sighed, ushering one of her daughters out of an armchair and sinking into it. "I wish I knew," she said. "I mean, it might just be the stress of the Centennial, but he's been so  _strange_. Always flustered, like —"

"He's lying," Patrick finished, sitting down on the couch next to Sarah and Erik. "I noticed it when we had lunch last week. He kept jumping at every noise and looking up at the sky."

"The sky!" Sarah echoed, slapping Patrick's knee. "I noticed that too! What does he think is up there?"

Erik shrugged, taking a swig from his beer. "I'm not sure, but he should be careful. The —" They suddenly looked around, aware that the ten or so children in the room were staring at them. At that moment, Jojo came in, balancing six trays in a complicated pyramid that looked unstable but didn't even shudder as he maneuvered the toys and bodies littered across the floor. Taking the trays from her son, and passing them out to her other children, she jerked her chin toward the front yard.

"Thank you. Now, I need to talk with your aunt and uncles," she told him. "Could you do me a favor and keep them entertained outside?" Rolling his eyes and giving a dramatic sigh, he snapped his fingers once and waved his hands at his siblings, herding them out of the room.

Lowering his voice, Erik continued. "The Chairman is doing everything he can to convince Whoville that Ned shouldn't be mayor. And Ned acting odd — well, odder than usual — could give him the ammunition he needs to turn the rest of the city on him."

"Which means he has to keep it together." As Patrick spoke, three pairs of eyes turned towards Sally, expectant.

"I know, I know. That's  _my_  job." After all, if Ned was suddenly deposed, not only would their only source of income disappear, but Jojo might have to take his father's place. And he wasn't even verbal! "I'll do what I can to keep him sane, I promise." _  
_

"Keep who sane?" They all jerked around to see Ned standing in the doorway, looking exhausted. He had daughters hanging from each limb and from his neck, all clamoring for his attention.

Sally leapt to her feet, pulling the girls off of him. "Honey!" she exclaimed, ignoring the question. "You're home early!"

"Work took less time than I'd thought." Kissing Sally and Sarah on the cheek and cuffing Patrick and Erik on the shoulder, he collapsed into a chair and pulled Heady onto his lap. Bouncing her absentmindedly, he surveyed his friends. "So what's going on?"

Patrick, sensing the others' panic, immediately leapt into a story about his job at the dentist's office and what had happened earlier that week. "I wish I'd gotten a good look at this guy," he was saying. "Somehow got a shot of NovWhocain to the arm and sprinted out before the doc could fix it. All I saw was a brown hand hurtling at my face and then WHAM! Straight in the eye." He rolled his own eyes and laughed. "Got a couple people in the waiting room, too, but of course they didn't notice him until he'd smacked them and was gone, and the doctor-patient confidentiality rule means no one in the office will tell who it was. I'm actually not supposed to be sharing this story . . ." He paused, considering, then shrugged. "Well, what they don't know can't hurt them."

"That was the day you had your root canal, right Ned?" Sally turned to him, relieved that their previous conversation had been forgotten. "Did you see whoever attacked Patrick?"

Ned's gray eyes went wide. "No!" he snapped, then winced at the sharpness in his tone. "I-I mean, that was before I got there. But I'm sure he didn't mean to hurt anyone . . . It was probably hard to control an arm full of painkiller."

Before anyone could respond, Erik's cellphone rang. Holding up a finger in apology, he answered: "Hello, Erik Redson speaking. Oh hi, Mary! How are you?" As he listened, his eyes darted toward Ned, though Sally couldn't read the expression in them. Her husband, however, had gone white. "For the mayor? Of course. There's a copy of the key behind the portrait of Dean Winthrop. You'll want section 911, by the windows. You're welcome." He hung up and turned to Ned, seeming confused. "That was Dr. Larue. Wanted information on the history of Whoville's weather patterns . . . for you."

Still pale, but looking more confident, Ned smiled. "Oh, yeah, that's what made me late," he said after the slightest hesitation. "I needed her to look up some figures for me, see if we could predict the weather for the WhoCentennial."

It sounded good, and Ned was an awful liar. Still, something about his story made Sally nervous, and she could tell that her friends felt the same way. She met their eyes and shook her head, almost imperceptibly. "I'd put faith in Mary Lou," she declared with a wry grin. "She's nothing if not thorough, as I'm sure we  _all_ remember."

They laughed, and immediately it was like nothing unusual had happened. They shared stories and jokes like it was just another one of their weekly get-togethers, like Ned wasn't hiding anything.

 _I'll talk to him tonight,_  she resolved, watching her husband argue with Patrick over the pros and cons of various Whoball teams (though neither of them played, they were fanatic spectators). As Ned picked up a piece of cheese and threw it at Pat — accidentally hitting Sarah instead and causing her to retaliate, resulting in a full-blown food fight — she couldn't help but smile. No matter what he was going through, Sally knew they were going to be just fine.

They'd been through worse, after all.


	28. A Giant Elephant in the Sky, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn't easy being the mayor of a speck, and it's not much more fun being the wife of a madman. But Ned and Sally's lives have always been unusual.

**A Giant Elephant in the Sky, Part II**

Once their friends had been sent home, Sally kissed her children goodnight and went to bed, letting Ned tuck them all in. She knew he cherished this, since it was the only time he was able to be alone with the girls, and sometimes he would spend up to an hour listening to their problems and giving advice and comfort.

Smiling, she rolled onto her back. When her eyes landed on the empty hole in the ceiling, however, the grin slid off her face. She stood up on her bed and peered at the spot where the chandelier had been. "Oh, Ned," she murmured, torn between affection and exasperation as she remembered his earlier panic about it crushing them in their sleep. "What's going on?"

"Mom?" The bedroom door opened and Nicki poked her head in. "We can't find Dad and everyone's freaking out. And some of them want ice cream for breakfast tomorrow."

Oh, lovely. Wrapping a blanket around herself (the day had been surprisingly cold for summer), she followed Nicki into the hallway. "Keep the others calm, honey," she said, kissing the top of her bright orange head. "Play a game with them or something while I look for Dad." Once the daughters were engaged in their bedroom, she padded through the house, calling out for her husband softly. "Ned? Ned!" Suddenly she heard it: his voice, faint but distinct, coming from . . . outside? Sticking her head out the window, she scanned the dark yard and couldn't see anything. Then she heard him again, this time above her.

"A beautiful wife, 96 daughters, and one son. And we all share one bathroom. You know how that is."

Leaning forward until she was nearly hanging out the window, she craned her neck until she could see the lip of the roof. "Ned!"

He stuck his head over the edge, his hair a mess and his eyes wide. "What?"

"Sweetheart, you know you're on the roof, right?" Suddenly she felt a tug on her pants that almost upset her precarious balance. Carefully, she glanced back to see a handful of her daughters staring at her.

"What's that noise?" one asked.

"Please?" another whined, still hoping to get dessert.

She shook her head and waved them away, too impatient to mince words with them. "No, you need to go to bed. Daddy's having a breakdown." Turning back to the roof, she called, "Ned, what are you up to  _now_?"

There was a faint noise from the roof. "I-I was just about to put the kids to bed when I got off the roof. And that's what happened. Right." Though he was trying to keep a cool face, his eyes kept darting back to something behind him and she couldn't help but notice that he looked  _very_ nervous.

For a moment Sally considered climbing out the window and finding out what was wrong for herself. But a quick glance behind her showed that her audience hadn't gone away — had, in fact, grown larger as word spread that their father was on the roof. She shot him a warning glare and pulled herself back inside, turning to her daughters with a reassuring smile. "Daddy just wanted to see the stars, girls," she told them, picking Heady and Freddie up and ushering the rest of them into their bedroom. "He'll be in to kiss you goodnight in just a few minutes."

* * *

Ned had hoped that Sally would be asleep when he came to bed, but he found her sitting up and staring at the hole in the middle of their ceiling. "How long has that been there?" she asked.

Shrugging sheepishly, he paused at the edge of the bed, wondering if she would banish him to the couch. (It had only happened once before, when he forgot their anniversary and stayed at work until midnight with his phone unplugged, but after so many years together he'd found that he couldn't sleep without her anymore.) Still, he hated lying to her. "Um . . . since Monday night. I waited until you'd fallen asleep before taking it down."

"Huh." She kept her eyes on the ceiling. "You'd think I would've seen it before now."

"It's been a long week," he offered sympathetically.  _Which is partly my fault_ , he thought, remembering the strange looks she'd been giving him since the disastrous day of his root canal.

She turned to him, and he knew that she had picked up on his silent message. "For both of us, I think," she agreed, her brow furrowing as she studied him. "Are you still seeing elephants?"

He was relieved that the room was too dark to see his blush.  _That_ hadn't been one of his smoothest moments, as a combination of NovWhocain and panic had caused him to attempt to hide every sharp object in sight. He'd been so flustered, he almost told Sally everything about Horton.  _"Hey, hon, did you ever get the feeling that you were being watched?"_

The look on her face had been terrible. Like she thought he had lost his mind. It had scared him almost as much as the thought of living on a speck, and even though her words had nearly caused him to jump out of his skin ( _"It's not the end of the world._ _"_  Yeah, he wished.), it wasn't until tonight that he'd had the courage to contact Horton from home.

And look how well  _that_  had turned out.

"Elephants? No, no, you don't understand! When I told you that, it was . . . a story I'm working on! In my spare time. About a guy who lives on a speck and no one else believes him. And there's an elephant he talks to. It's a fantasy story. With pirates. And . . . you know, the elephant."

She raised one eyebrow. "Well, not to crush your creative spark, but I'd work harder on the premise of the story. It's kind of hard to believe." Ned flinched and her expression softened marginally. "Honey, you've never lied to me before. Or if you have, you've been a lot better at it. What's going on?"

His first instinct was to keep fibbing:  _Going on? Pssh,_ you're  _the one hallucinating. Nothing's wrong, Sal._ His second was to burst into tears, let out all the frustration and fear that had been building up ever since he'd heard that voice from the sky; maybe he could even drag her to his office or the roof and talk to him herself . . . provided she didn't call the police first. Finally he settled for something in between. "The council really wants me to fail," he said with a sigh, his shoulders slumping from exhaustion and misery. "Especially the Chairman. With this WhoCentennial coming up, the pressure's really been building." When she still looked doubtful, he added, "So I've been having trouble sleeping, and I think it's making me a little loopy."

"Loopy," Sally repeated.

He began pacing, hoping that would make him look more convincing as someone losing his marbles — but only temporarily. "Sometimes I get dizzy and these little black things show up in the corners of my vision, and that's when I sometimes see things."  _Rein it in, Ned._ The voice in his head wasn't Horton, but a strange combination of Patrick, Sarah, and his own wife.  _Don't go overboard with the crazy._  "But that's only happened a couple times. And I think maybe I dreamed about the elephant and the speck. Miss Yelp said I've fallen asleep at my desk before." That, at least, was true.

For a moment Sally didn't say anything, her gaze returning once again to the hole in the ceiling. "So it's just stress. You're not going crazy for real?"

He smiled at her, a smile that hopefully illustrated just how sane he was. "I promise I'm not crazy."

"Good." She smiled and reached across the bed, wrapping her arms around his waist and pulling him to her. "Because you're not allowed to lose it and leave me to deal with all these kids by myself."

He shrugged and said, "Come on, Sal, how hard would that be?" softening the joke with a wink.

Rolling her eyes, she scooted back so that he could lay down next to her. "So do I need to get you some help or something?" she asked. "There have to be a few good shrinks around here." As she spoke, however, she remembered Erik's warning about the Chairman. When Ned had first started acting strange, she'd told him not to share his story about the elephant; at the time, she'd just been acting out of instinct, figuring that the story would only get him in trouble. Now, however . . . If the council had any reason to believe that her husband was going crazy, they could force him out of office. And that would just _kill_  him.

 _Just temporary,_ she told herself, snuggling against his chest.  _Just stress._ And yet as she drifted off, a memory returned to her.

She could almost swear that when Ned had been talking on the roof, she'd heard a very quiet response:  _"Don't I know it."_

But that was nonsense, wasn't it?

* * *

Ned was awoken the next morning by a pounding on his bedroom door. "Dad! DAD!"

Rubbing his eyes, he staggered to his feet, checking to make sure he was clothed. "Yes, sweetheart?" he asked, pulling the door open. "Is everything okay?"

Nora, his second-eldest, shook her mop of brown curls out of her eyes and stared up at him. "Someone's at the door. Some doctor, I think." She yawned, and he glanced at his watch. Who'd come calling before nine in the morning?

"Thanks, Nora," he said, ruffling her hair. "Get back to bed now."

She followed him down the hall instead. "Everything okay?"

Girl was too inquisitive for her own good. "No. I mean yes!" he called over his shoulder. "Everything's fine!" As soon as he was out of her line of sight, he broke into a run, nearly toppling down the stairs in his hurry.

Dr. Larue was still pounding on the front door, which was closed. "No one let her in?" he demanded the empty room, yanking open the door as she drew back her fist to hit it again.

For a moment she just stared at him, her eyes wide. Shaking it off, she waved her arm over her shoulder. "Mr. Mayor! It'sh shnowing! In the  _shummer_!"

He glanced over her shoulder, watching the snowflakes fall, fat and silent, carpeting everything in sight. "Yes," he replied faintly. "Yes, it is."

"It'sh a dramatic change in the weather," she said, taking off her glasses and wiping them furiously on her lab coat (which led Ned to wonder if she wore it all the time), "ash if we  _were_ on a shpeck floating in shpashe." Larue looked up at him and shook her head, half in awe and half disbelief. "I don't know how you knew, but shomehow you did. And Whoville ish headed for . . . disashter."

That was a wonderful start to his weekend. "Oh, Horton," he groaned.  _What have you done now?_

Dr. Larue's eyes narrowed slightly. "What?"

Realizing he looked like a crazy person to the only person who believed him, he waved his hand dismissively. "Ah, nothing. I'm on it. It's up to us to save the people of Whoville!" Wincing at the bravado in his voice, he flashed her his most mayoral smile and dropped his tone. "I have some stuff to take care of, but I'm on it. Just find out what you can about this, and don't tell anyone. No need to make people panic just yet." Shrieks of joy drowned out Larue's response; his girls had woken up and noticed the snow.

"Look at it, Daddy!" Mimi, born seconds after Nora and named after Ned's own twin, rushed to his side and stared out at the snow.

"Yeah, it's . . . something." With Larue gone, all his confidence fled as well, and panic began rising in his throat. "Where's Mom?"

Mimi shrugged. "I dunno." But Jojo, who'd been standing behind her, raised his eyebrows and snapped once.

It was rare that his son was helpful, and the shock of it almost distracted him from the oncoming apocalypse. "Where is she, son?" Jojo rolled his eyes, clearly frustrated that Ned didn't ask a yes-or-no question, but he mimed driving a car, staggering, and then rubbed his fingers together in the universal sign for money.

The first thing that popped into his head was "prostitution," but knowing that couldn't be right, he cast his mind around for something that made more sense. If only his son would speak . . . but that staggering could have been carrying a heavy weight, rather than the girly swaying he'd first imagined it as. "Is she . . . shopping?"

Jojo nodded, then snapped to emphasize his point.

"So she won't be home for hours, maybe," Ned murmured to himself. Then his head snapped up as he realized the full implications of the snow and rushed around trying to keep his girls from having fun and ignoring the dangers of the weather. Finally giving up, he turned once again to Jojo, who was still watching him; the expression on his face had turned from annoyed to wary, almost frightened, but Ned was too desperate to reach Horton to register his son's concern. "Tell your mom I had to go into work. I'll be home as soon as I can. It . . . I . . . it's doom. I mean work. Doom-work. WhoCentennial. Yes." Abandoning them with these babblings, he raced toward the garage, where his old skis were buried under who knew how much stuff.  _I don't even remember how to use these_ , he thought, snapping his feet into them and arranging the poles under his arms.  _It's probably just like riding a bike, though._

He'd just remembered that he couldn't ride a bike when there was a roar of children's voices from behind him and he was thrown to the ground.

* * *

With a sudden gust of warm, damp air, the snow was gone. Sally brushed her now-dripping hair from her face and surveyed the Whoville Hall's lawn, which was now more swamp than grass. "Ned?" she called, climbing the front steps and slipping on mud. "Are you —  _aaaah_!"

A hand tightened on her elbow and a shoulder pressed up under her armpit, keeping her from skating down the stairs. Righting herself, Sally glanced down at the shaggy mop of her son. "Thanks, Jo," she said, kissing the top of his head. She didn't know exactly why their son had wanted to come with her to visit Ned at work, but his face had been pale and set ever since she'd come home, and she knew Ned had to have done something pretty strange to worry Jojo that much. Which was why, instead of supervising the chaos of giving her 97 children lunch, she had tossed her purse at Nora and Mimi, asked them to order pizzas, and headed to the mayor's office as fast as her legs could carry her, Jojo bobbing silently at her side like a melancholy, very short shadow.

At the door she hesitated, then turned to him. "What's wrong, honey?" she demanded, finally voicing the question that she'd been too afraid to ask until now. "What did your father do?"

He shook his head, then realizing she wasn't going to accept that answer, pulled out his pad and pencil. "He seemed really scared," she read in his messy scrawl. "Dad's never scared."

"I know," she murmured, half to herself. "He worries me too." She pulled the front door open and was in the threshold when the world suddenly jerked to the left, smashing her painfully into the doorframe. When it had righted again she yanked them both into the building, rubbing her side and wincing at the nasty bruise that was forming here. "What —" she began, but was cut off as the floor leapt toward them, then tilted like a sinking ship. Instinctively she grabbed Jojo's arm and pulled him into the nearest room, which happened to be a broom closet, and slammed the door shut.

Huddling among the cleaning supplies, she held her son to her chest and waited for the world to end.


	29. We Are Here!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get bad.

**We Are Here!**  
  
The world hadn't ended, but Sally was afraid to move. She sat on a bucket, holding Jojo to her chest like he was a little kid (which was especially easy considering how small he was). Everything had been shaken off the closet's shelves; she vaguely remembered being brained with a 24-pack of bar soap, and toilet paper hung like streamers over every available surface. The naked, dangling lightbulb had shattered, thanks to being thrown against the wall, and without being able to see anything she felt untethered, lost and small and quiet in the blackness.  
  
Finally she became aware of an impatient snapping, and realized with a start that her son was trying to wriggle free. "Sorry, kid," she said with a shaky laugh, loosening her stranglehold. "Guess I was a little spooked." A dismissive snap, and then the closet was flooded with light as Jojo opened the door. He slipped outside, looking like a shadow against the brilliant afternoon, made even brighter by the fact that all the windows were missing. So was the front door. "Yikes," she breathed, climbing over a pile of mops and brooms into the lobby. "That was some earthquake, huh? Hey — Jojo?" She found him wading through the front lawn, showing a desk chair out of his way. "Hey! HEY! Where are you going?"  
  
He pointed up at the observatory on top of the hill.  
  
Ah, right; his hideout. "Gotta make sure everything's all right in the secret laboratory? Check that Frankwhonstein didn't get out?"  
  
He rolled his eyes but nodded, continuing through the muddy water.  
  
"Don't be out too late!" she called, watching his tiny black head bob down the road. "I don't want you alone if there's another one of those things!"  
  
Another snap. Her son would be fine. Her daughters, on the other hand . . .  
  
She frantically pulled out her cell phone, but before she could dial, it rang, a shrill polka that Ned loved. "Honey, is that you?" she asked, hoping for either her husband or one of her daughters.  
  
"See, I  _knew_  I was her favorite," she heard Patrick say smugly, followed by Sarah telling him to shut up.  
  
Sally sighed. "Hi, guys. Everything okay?"  
  
"Yeah, we're at your house. You know, to go to the WhoCentennial like we agreed? Where are you?"  
  
"At Whoville Hall. Things are . . . fine, I guess. A little swampy. But the girls are all right?" After being reassured several times that everyone was okay, they decided to meet in the town square and see what Ned had to say.  
  
"Hey, Sal?" Patrick's voice was softer, nervous. "Do you think there'll even be a celebration? I mean . . . how bad  _is_  this?"  
  
She sighed and looked back at the hall, where dozens of Whos had already grabbed blow-dryers and were trying to dry out the lawn. The crumbled bricks and shards of glass would be harder to repair, though. "I don't know, Pat. But whatever it is, I think it's been going on for a while.”

* * *

Ned crawled out from under his office, which had been moved to the balcony and arranged in a giant heap of splintered wood.  _Interesting design choice,_  he thought, fighting a manic urge to laugh.  
  
"Are you okay?" Horton's voice was tinny and distant — or maybe that was just his concussion, he wasn't sure.  
  
He put everything back where it belonged and returned to the balcony, looking down at the wreck of his front lawn. It was almost time for the WhoCentennial, and Whos were straggling dizzily from their wrecked houses and headed toward the town hall. "Well . . . more or less." Then he remembered the danger they were in. "What happened? The bird?"  
  
"Yeah, it attacked me. Mayor, your people are in danger!"  
  
The concern in his invisible friend's voice touched him. If no one else would, Horton believed in him.  _He_  thought Ned could do this. And for the first time, it really hit him what a risk Horton was taking to bring them to safety; the least he could do was try to make things easier. "You know what? I'm gonna do it." His confidence wavered as he saw the crowd building in front of his office, but he pushed that aside as the giant elephant in the sky (and wasn't  _that_  still a weird sentence) gave him a hasty farewell — another reminder that things were far from well in Whoville.  
  
Suddenly he caught Sally's eye. She had crept to the front of the crowd with a handful of children in tow, their friends huddled behind her. They were battered and rumpled, and a thin cut had dyed the cream-colored fur on his wife's cheek red, but mostly they just looked confused and scared.  
  
And they were his responsibility.  
  
Taking a deep breath, he lifted his chin and faced his people, trying not to look as panicked as he felt. "I'm declaring a state of emergency."

* * *

"So it's bad," Patrick affirmed in a whisper, even as the Chairman stepped up to declare everything fine, insisting that the Mayor was "just being a moron."  
  
"Pretty bad," Eric agreed, grabbing one son in each arm and pulling them close. Sally ignored them, unable to look away from the tiny form on the balcony. Things had been bad before, and over the course of their marriage she'd had to stand by more than once and seethe as her stupid brother-in-law humiliated Ned, but never before had he done it in front of the entire town. And never before had her husband had such a desperate, determined look in his eyes. And never before had the people turned on him so openly, she realized, watching them "vote" to continue the celebration even as the skies darkened and the wind picked up.  
  
Their friends had seen their fair share of petty bullying directed Ned's way, but this was a first for them as well, and Erik had to grip Sarah's arm to keep her from springing at the nearest laughing Who. "Those  _jerks,”_  she snarled. "If I could get that Birch alone in a room for five minutes, I'd —"  
  
"Children, dear," Erik reminded her, jerking his head towards the kids and stopping what was sure to be an impressive stream of profanities.  
  
"We have to do something!" she shot back, dropping her voice as the crowd fell silent in response to the Chairman's question — except for one guy, who shouted "Yeah!" and tried to high-five Patrick, who avoided his unwashed hand and turned back to them as soon as it was safe to whisper again.  
  
"What are we supposed to do?" he asked. "We're four assholes in the middle of an entire city —"  
  
"Children!"  
  
“ _Five_  assholes, if you count our dear mayor up there," Sarah added helpfully. Erik rolled his eyes but said nothing.  
  
"— and it's not like any of  _us_  are gonna win them over."  
  
On the balcony, Ned was trying and failing to deflate a beach ball with a pen. It hurt to watch, and despite herself Sally began wondering if Ned was having a mental breakdown. The stress of being mayor had become too much for him, and she hadn't been able to support him the way she should've, and now he was imploding on himself, as slowly and painfully as that whining plastic ball. Could she have prevented it? She'd seen the signs — should she have said something?  
  
"Sally, are you okay?" Erik asked gently.  
  
She waved him away as Tom Birch smirked at Ned. "No one believes you. No one supports you." The words tore through her, brutally sharp and cold. Was that true?  
  
"I hate to say it," Mimi said, speaking for the first time, "but it  _does_  sound kinda crazy. I love my brother, don't get me wrong, but . . ."  
  
There was an uncomfortable silence. "Yeah," Patrick finally agreed. "There is that."  
  
As though to punctuate the statement, Ned declared defiantly, "Horton is . . . a giant elephant in the sky!" When they glanced up, he quickly added, "Don't bother looking, he's invisible. And he's the one risking his life to get Whoville — which, by the way, is a speck on a clover! — to safety!"  
  
 _Oh, no._  Sally let her head drop into her hand. "Not this again," she muttered.  
  
“ _Again?_ " Mimi quirked up one eyebrow at her, but before she could say anything else, the mayor hurried over to a large horn that had been shoved into a drainpipe, calling into it for Horton to speak to them. The helpless, pleading note in his voice made her cringe, and despite her better sense she caught her breath, praying to hear something come out of that pipe.  _Please, please, let Ned win one. Just this once. Let him be right. Not crazy. Please don't let my husband be crazy._  
  
When the Chairman declared that it was time for the kite races to begin, her head had begun spinning from not breathing, and she almost fell over before she felt someone under her arm, holding her upright. She looked down again and smiled despite everything, tousling her son's head. "Thanks, Jojo. Again."  
  
He nodded, not looking at her. His face was ashen, brown eyes huge and horrified as they watched his father sprint down the hall's front steps. Several Whos tried to stop him, some serious and some mocking, but he waved them all off with a quick "Get underground" and rushed to Sally's side, taking her hands in his with a gravity that frightened her almost as much as his strange behavior.  
  
"I am so sorry that I let you down, but this . . . this is bigger than me. Get the family together and get somewhere safe." His hair was a tangled mess hanging in his eyes, his fur flat on one side from being pushed into the balcony railing, his eyes wild and manic. He looked absolutely nuts, and she had half a second to decide what to say to him.  _Get help? What's going on? Why didn't you tell me any of this earlier?_  
  
Then she saw the lines of exhaustion around his eyes, and the way his hands were rock steady despite the fact that his lips were trembling. "I will," she said, and was gratified for a split second to see relief flash across his face, turning him back into the clumsy, awkward kid she'd fallen in love with, the man she'd chosen to always trust. As he dropped her hands and hurried away, she pulled Jojo close to her side and called, "I believe you!"  
  
It was, she thought, what he needed to hear.  
  
Once he'd left, she turned back to her friends with a shrug and a half-sheepish smile. "Wanna spend some time underground with Mr. and Mrs. Crazy?”

* * *

It had taken a long time to round up their children and bring them to the storage facility, and none of them were happy to crouch among old parade floats and other official equipment, but finally they were all there: Sally and her kids, Patrick, Sarah and Erik with their children, and a few dozen other Whos that had decided to bet on the mayor. It was bitterly cold and uncomfortable, but the older kids had organized the younger ones into a game of Ninja, and everything seemed okay . . . sort of.  
  
Ned sighed with relief as Sally relayed all of this over the phone, standing on his office balcony and watching the wind howl through the square. "That's good, honey. Stay down there until it's safe." Not that he knew when that would be. Or what "safe" even meant. Once he'd left the square, he'd found Dr. Larue in her lab, flipping through giant textbooks and blissfully ignorant of everything around her. He'd convinced her to stop her research and they'd begun rounding up everyone who'd listen and herding them into safe areas. It'd had mixed results; though Larue was respected for her brilliance, she was also considered something of an eccentric, and not everyone trusted her odd ideas.  
  
"Where are  _you,_  Ned? You're coming down here, right?"  
  
He grimaced, hating to disappoint his wife again. "I can't. I have to get as many people to safety as I can." The ground had begun to rumble, and judging from the concerned voices emanating both from the celebration below him and the phone in his hand, he wasn't the only one who'd noticed.  
  
"Then I'll come up there with you! I —"  
  
"Please don't. It'll be okay. I'll . . ." He had no idea how to end that sentence without lying again, and feeling the earthquake becoming still more intense, he fell silent.  
  
"Take care, Ned." Her voice was small and sad, like she wasn't sure she'd see him again but knew that it was time to let him go.  
  
"You too." There had to be something more to say, in case this really  _was_  it. "I've been so lucky, Sal. I love you."  
  
"I —" But the phone cut off with a burst of static, and he let it fall to the floor as he raced to the balcony.  
  
"Get underground!" he shouted again, taking the horn down from the drainpipe and using it to project his voice above the alarmed crowd. There wasn't time to get them all into the storage facility, but . . . "Basements! Everyone get to the nearest basement and —"  
  
Suddenly his feet left the ground. In a surreal and strangely beautiful scene, gravity had been suspended, and he watched in awe as everything in the town that wasn't bolted down — cars, people, street vendors and their wares — floated up into the air, spinning around as the wind buffeted them back and forth. People grabbed at everything in reach, making chains of Whos to keep everyone from flying away. Never in his life had he seen such cooperation in Whoville; even the Greenies were trying to help.  
  
"Mishter Mayor!" Larue's hand closed around his ankle, tethering him to a line of Whos that stretched across the square.  
  
"Thanks, Mary," he said, smiling down at her. Then he lifted the horn to his lips again and shouted, "EVERYONE HOLD ON! WE'RE GOING TO —"  
  
But before he could finish, gravity reasserted itself. There was a flash of gray, green, pink, white, white, blinding white —  
  
And then everything was black.

* * *

It had been silent for an hour. No one in the underground storage facility had said anything that entire time; after the screams and crashing that had sounded like the city was falling down on top of them, everyone was too shocked to speak. Even the youngest children were silent except for an occasional sniffle. But it had been an hour of emptiness, and Sally couldn't bear to wait any longer. "Someone should go up," she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Make sure everything's all right."  
  
"What if it starts again?" Mimi asked, holding Heady in her lap and stroking the sleeping baby's hair.  
  
Sally wasn't worried about that, not as much as she feared the opposite: that Whoville was dead, and nothing would ever start again. "I have to find Ned," she finally replied. "He'll need help putting things back together."  
  
No one said what they were all thinking. "I'll come with you," Patrick said, climbing to his feet and pulling her to hers. "We'll send a small party up to make sure everything's all right, and everyone else can stay down here with the kids."  
  
"So who's going?" Sarah was already standing as she spoke. "That's three of us. Or four?" she added, glancing over her shoulder at Erik.  
  
He shook his head. "I think one of us should be here for the children, and something tells me that nothing will keep you in this hole for another minute."  
  
"You know me so well."  
  
A few others agreed to go as well (including some of her kids, who were very angry when she refused to let them join the exploration party), but Sally was surprised to find that Mimi wasn't one of them. "But what about Ned?" she asked.  
  
"Ned's job has always been to take care of Whoville, and my job is to take care of him. But you've been doing that better than I ever could." She looked down at Heady again, and something tender and sad crossed her face. "So I'll watch his family while you guys are up there saving Whoville."  
  
A lump rose in her throat. Sally kissed Mimi on the cheek, then said goodbye to the children that were awake.  
  
"Nervous?" Sarah asked, the three of them leading the way up to the surface.  
  
"Only of dying a horrible death at the face of some cosmic shitstorm," Patrick quipped.  
  
"Well, if that's all," Sally said, "then let's get out of here."  
  
Aboveground, everything was covered in dust and rubble. Most people were sprawled on the ground, or sitting up and assessing their injuries. "What happened?" someone shouted, and then everyone began to move, calling for their loved ones and asking what to do now.  
  
Sarah whistled. "It looks like a war zone."  
  
"Maybe it was," Patrick murmured. "We still don't really know what's going on, and — Sal?"  
  
She pushed past them both, moving from Who to Who frantically. "Have you seen Ned?" she kept asking. "The Mayor — is he all right?" Patrick and Sarah had to rush to keep up with her, dodging the people and debris littering the grass and trying not to lose sight of her in the confusion.  
  
Suddenly he caught Sarah's arm, pulling them both to a halt. "Go get Sal," he said, pointing. "Hurry!"  
  
One glance at Ned's prone body, hidden and half-buried under a Boozleberry tree, and Sarah took off sprinting.

* * *

The first thing Ned was aware of was pain in his side, like something hard and sharp was being jabbed into it. The second was of the strange noise his breath made. The third was a voice in his ear: "Buddy, you all right?"  
  
He sat up with a jerk, opening his eyes and seeing only blackness. "Am I dead?" he asked, hearing the echoing again. Then with horror as he recognized the voice: "Pat? Does that mean you're dead too? What about Sally? The kids? Jojo —"  
  
Patrick laughed. "Hold on, I've got you." His large hand held Ned's shoulder down, while something tugged on his head.  
  
"Ow!" He pawed at his head and felt cool metal. "This is the weirdest afterlife."  
  
"Just — a second — almost got it — there!" The tugging ceased and his vision was flooded with light. "There you go," Patrick said, smiling down at him. "Better?"  
  
He shielded his eyes from the sudden glare, looking around at his almost-familiar city. "So I'm not dead?" he asked, staggering to his feet.  
  
"Nope, just knocked out. And thank goodness for that." Before Ned knew it, he was almost bowled over as Patrick gave him a bear hug, jabbing the thing in his side with one bony elbow. "We were seriously worried, man."  
  
"Ow! I was worried about you guys too." Wincing, he wriggled out of his friend's grip, yanking the painful object off of him with a yelp of pain. He groaned when he realized it was the stapler from his office. "Where did it even  _come_  from?"  
  
Patrick shrugged. "Staplers hate you." He waved the horn that had been on the mayor's head. "Apparently so do these things. And Boozleberry trees — it took three guys to get it off you."  
  
He realized with irritation that he'd been crushed by the same tree that he'd planted in Mr. Smirgle's yard, back when he'd first been married. It had fallen on him then, too. But that was quickly wiped from his mind when he remembered where he was and what'd happened. "Is everyone all right? Where . . ." He trailed off, noticing that they were in the center of a small circle of people — one that was growing as more and more Whos came over. Dropping his voice to a whisper, he leaned close to Patrick and asked, "How many of them saw me with a horn on my head?"  
  
He shrugged, but before he could reply they were suddenly surrounded by purple and red fur. "Ned! You're okay!" Sally cried, squeezing him so hard he could barely breathe.  
  
"You idiot, you could've gotten killed!" But Sarah gave him a quick peck on the cheek to soften her words. "And Pat wouldn't let us help you get up," she added sulkily. "He made us go get everyone from storage instead."  
  
"Glad you're okay, Ned," he heard Erik say, though he couldn't see anything through Sarah's curls.  
  
"DADDY!" a chorus of girls shouted, and then he was buried in even more hugs.  
  
He kissed the top of Sally's head, then gently pushed everyone off of him, looking around at the damage. "We have to get this under control," he said, holding out his hand for the horn and raising it to his mouth. "Listen up!" he called. "I want anyone who's injured to get into the Town Hall, and anyone who can walk carry those who can't!" He let Dr. Larue organize a team of medics, and ordered his friends to form cleaning committees.  
  
"What're you going to do?" Sally asked, watching as Whos gathered up the mess and tried to make sense of it, battering cars back into shape and piling up whatever couldn't be fixed in the center of the square.  
  
He pointed the horn in the direction of his balcony. "I need to check in with Horton.”

* * *

Sally had never been so relieved to meet a giant, invisible elephant in her life. She watched Ned's eyes light up as he heard Horton's voice, smiling as he joked around with his newest friend. It was like meeting God . . . and finding out that He was an elephant with her husband's strange, dorky sense of humor. She didn't know how much he'd been told about the Chairman, but the pure joy on Ned's face and the confused outrage on Tom's when Horton called him a boob was one of the most beautiful things she'd seen in her life.  
  
She was impressed by Horton's memory, thrilled at his existence, and touched by his determination to save them. As the entire city listened with rapt attention to the story of the speck — Ned filling in what had been going on in Whoville, Horton explaining things in the sky, which he called "Nool" — she realized that everything she'd ever known was being shattered into a billion pieces. It was terrifying, but at the same time everything started to make sense: the strange weather, that G-something guy from the land of Snowflake, and more than anything her husband's strange, disturbing behavior over the past few weeks. Despite that Horton's existence changed the very bedrock of their knowledge, what she felt most was relief that Ned could finally be honest with her again (and the fact that he wasn't crazy certainly didn't hurt).  
  
And Sally could see in Ned's expression that he felt the same way. While it was nice to be validated as right, to have the Chairman mocked in front of the entire town, and for once feeling the respect of Whoville's citizens, above all she knew that he was happiest that everything was out in the open, and he didn't have to lie to anyone anymore.  
  
This peace — the cleaning-up and healing of Whoville and listening to Horton's stories, watching Ned take charge and have people listen to him, for once fully confident in his decisions — only lasted for a few hours. Sally was helping Nora and Jojo put a smashed unicycle back together when they heard Ned:  
  
"Everyone! They don't believe we're here! They're going to —" He cut himself off as the horn exploded with shouting, calls for the speck's destruction and boiling oil. Over the panic in the square, Ned's voice rang out, frantic but determined, "We've got to make some noise! We are here! We are here! We are here!"  
  
Their trouble had only begun.


End file.
